All posts by Keith

I consider it a good day if you find yourself in a torn Army green t-shirt, using a badly notched machete to split open a coconut and hand half of it to the scantily clad woman sitting on the beach next to you as you stare out at the waves and listen intently for the sound of war drums drifting from the dense foliage of the jungle behind you.
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DOA: Dead or Alive

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While some video games really do have a rich enough mythology or back story to serve as a decent foundation for a movie (Resident Evil, Silent Hill — even if you don’t think the movies were good, the games at least provided enough meat for the framework), many others do not. Of course, that doesn’t stop them from being made into movies anyway. Such is the case with DOA. As best I can gather, DOA started life as a fighting video game, with the hook that most of the characters were hot cartoon chicks with tiny outfits and huge breasts, and you could somehow set the jiggle rate on their boobs. Then somehow the DOA games became beach volleyball games, with the attraction being the same. Someone thought this was about all you needed for a movie plot, and so thousands of years of intellectual evolution and technological innovation has finally resulted in our ability to watch a movie with the plot, “bikini models play volleyball and fight.”

DOA the movie was directed by Hong Kong action director Cory Yuen, who has a track record that boasts more high points than low and who specializes in turning otherwise non-athletic women into believable on-screen kungfu bad-asses. Under his tutelage, Cynthia Rothrock, Joyce Godenzi, Michelle Yeoh, and Shannon Lee were all transformed into believable martial arts powerhouses (OK, Rothrock was already a kungfu powerhouse; he just figured out how best to choreograph her). And while Hsu Chi, Karen Mok, and Vicky Zhao may not have been 100% believable as ass-kicking superwomen, that doesn’t change the fact that Yuen’s So Close was completely awesome. Yuen is also one of the few Hong Kong directors to have a big hit as a director in the United States, that hit being the Luc Besson-produced The Transporter starring Jason Statham, who has never fought in a bikini but is never the less appreciated around these parts for his inability to keep his shirt on.


When news that there was going to be a DOA movie produced first hit cult film fandom, there was a lot of eye-rolling and “yeah, whatever, man” reaction. But when it was further revealed that Cory Yuen would be director, ears (among other things) pricked up and a lot of action film fans were suddenly a lot more willing to give the film a try, even if the inevitable PG-13 rating meant it would be all tease. If anyone was going to be able to direct a dumb fun “bikini models play volleyball and fight” movie, it would be Cory Yuen. So people waited. Trailers played, and the reaction was tentatively positive after the initial negative reaction. Sure, the movie looked colossally goofy, but it also looked like it would sport high energy and be sort of fun. And then the release date came and went, and there was no movie. DOA vanished, bumped from the release schedule and shelved for any number of reasons, the most likely of which was probably, “Wow, this movie is awful.” Which is a shame. I mean, how bad could the film possibly be? They released Pluto Nash, for crying out loud, and Epic Movie. And those had to be worse than DOA . Right?

DOA eventually began to trickle out to theaters in other countries, though it still remained absent from American theaters, and fans of Cory Yuen, action movies, video games, and bikinis started looking to foreign DVD releases to see the movie. Was it worth the wait? Or the trouble to see it? Yes and no. DOA is pretty much exactly what you would expect it to be from the elements listed above. It is dumb. Extremely dumb. It is full of cheap titillation and gratuitous bikini ass shots. The script is paper thin, and what little story there is makes no sense anyway. Most of the cast doesn’t even seem to realize they are supposed to be acting in a movie. The fight choreography, involving almost no trained martial artists, is heavy on editing, camera trickery, and computer manipulation.

But Eric Roberts wears magic kungfu sunglasses. So…


The plot revolves around a group of women invited to compete in a semi-secret martial arts tournament where, of course, shady shenanigans are being engaged in behind the scenes. Enter the Dragon‘s plot has proved useful so many times, the writers of this film decided there was no reason not to dust it off once more. First we meet Katsumi, head of a ninja clan with a massive temple complex you would think someone in modern-day Japan would notice. Katsumi’s brother disappeared during the last tournament, presumed dead, and she is determined to uncover the truth behind his disappearance, even if it means violating the laws of her clan. She leaves for the tournament with two more ninjas in hot pursuit: the noble Hayabusa, who has a thing for Katsumi, and the vengeful Ayane, herself the former lover of Katsumi’s brother. Katsumi is played by the indescribable Devon Aoki, whose continued presence in the world of cinema is one of the great mysteries of the entertainment world. She’s a horrible actress, completely incapable of anything beyond a single blank expression and a single, monotone style of dialog delivery. OK, credit where credit is due. She’s actually much more animated than usual in Fast & Furious 2, but beyond that she handles herself with the seeming belief that to have any expression on her face would cause it to shatter. And yet, I don’t know. Over the years, I’ve sort of grown to appreciate her.

Accompanying her, Hayabusa is played by none other than Kane Kosugi, son of the legendary (to me, anyway) Sho Kosugi and a performer who makes Devon Aoki seem positively histrionic. Sho, of course, starred in many of the best ninja exploitation films of the 1980s and then went on to host Ninja Theater and release a ninja exercise video in which he was accompanied by scantily-clad Ninjettes. One gets the feeling that Sho probably appreciates DOA. Kane started his acting career alongside his dad, always playing the son of whatever ninja guy Sho was playing at the time. Kane never developed much in the way of an American acting career, but he clicked in Japan and managed to forge a pretty consistent string of jobs, including a role in a Japanese sentai television series (those superhero shows that get turned into the Power Rangers in the United states), a role in one of those crappy new Ultraman shows, and more recently one of the leads in Godzilla: Final Wars (even though the lead role should have gone to Godzilla). He does handle action scenes well, which is generally all he’s expected to do. As he gets older, he is looking a lot like his father, so much so that I’m beginning to wonder if Kane isn’t Sho Kosugi, his revitalized youth the result of some esoteric ninja ritual. Oh sure, you say, but what about all those times Sho and Kane appeared alongside one another? Well, yeah. Maybe — or maybe they just told us that was Kane Kosugi. Honestly, they could have hired any kid.


Anyway, Hayabusa is along for the ride, trying to convince Katsumi that she should return home while also helping her out with her investigation. Ayane is a little more hostile. Despite her love for Katsumi’s missing brother, Ayane holds clan law more important, and clan law dictates that when Katsumi abandoned her post as leader, she was marked for death. Ayane is played by Natassia Malthe, who has a string of cult film credits to her name but is probably most recognizable, to people who might recognize such an actress, for her role as Typhoid in Elektra or for her turn in the title role in the sequel to video game based movie Bloodrayne. I may be one of the few people in the world who would think, “Elektra and Bloodrayne II? Sounds good to me!”

Second on the list of DOA combatants is Tina Armstrong, played by Jamie Pressly of My Name is Earl fame. Pressly is pretty much the only person who showed up to this film with the intention of acting, and she steals the movie (no impressive feat, mind you) as a pro wrestler looking for the opportunity to prove she’s a genuine fighter. The film introduces us to her as she reclines aboard her yacht while wearing an American flag motif bikini, stirred out of her sunbathing just long enough to beat the snot out of a bunch of pirates (lead by none other than Robin Shou, former star of such movies as Mortal Kombat, and, umm, well, just that and Mortal Kombat II, really). When our founding fathers first set forth the basic premise of this great land of ours, I’m sure that they could conjure up no greater symbol of American awesomeness than a woman in an American flag motif bikini beating up pirates. OK, maybe Thomas Jefferson would disagree. But whatever. Fuckin’ Jefferson. Ask Ben Franklin. He’d be on board.

Tina’s pro-wrestling dad is also in the tournament, play by real-life pro wrestler (there’s something…ironic? about the phrase “real-life pro wrestler”) Kevin “Big Daddy Cool Diesel” Nash, who is dressed up more or less like Hulk Hogan in a somewhat lame gag I’m sure Nash found amusing. Since Kevin Nash’s job in this movie is to drink beer and go, “That’s my little girl!” he turns in the second best acting job after Pressly.


Finally there’s Holly Valance as Christie Allen, a posh thief who shows up to the tournament while on the run from the Hong Kong police. Or someone like that. Valance is definitely no actress. I think she was some sort of mid-level Aussie pop star before this movie, and it’s unlikely much will change after this movie. She’s attractive though, and just bad enough an actress to still be somewhat acceptable in a movie of this nature. And she does the thing where she throws a gun and a bra up into the air, then sticks her arm up so that her bra goes magically on just as she catches the gun, then whups the butt of the world’s most incompetent bunch of cops. I mean really, when a kungfu dame asks you to hand her a bra, do you really offer it to her as it dangles from the barrel of your gun? And I don’t mean that figurative gun. I mean the actual gun, the one she can now kick out of your hands. Everyone knows the flying bra technique is like the first thing they teach you at Shaolin Temple. Or if not at Shaolin Temple, it’s definitely the first thing you learn when you join the Black Fragon Fighting Society.

Along with a bunch of other fighters you will never care about (and most of whom just disappear at random throughout the movie with no explanation presented anywhere other than deleted scenes), the three ladies head to the island fortress lorded over by brilliant mastermind and DOA tournament manager Eric Roberts. Yes, folks, Eric Roberts, looking like a dude who would hang around the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame a lot, telling young kids about what a genius Jimmy Page was. In a feat of casting not rivaled since the days when Black Belt Jones cast Scatman Crothers as a karate master, crummy movie mainstay Eric Roberts is the lord of DOA, and with the help of his nerdy assistant Weatherby, Roberts aims to use the DOA tournament as a way to inject the world’s best fighters with nanotech robots that will harvest their genetic information and make it downloadable to a pair of sunglasses which will then instill the wearer with nigh invincible kungfu prowess.


Seriously, man, that’s the plot. All Eric Roberts needs to do for his nefarious scheme to work is, 1) capture each of the best fighters in the DOA tournament, 2) strap them into his gigantic info downloading machine, and 3) manage to keep a clunky pair of sunglasses on his face while fighting. And the end result of all that effort is that you will be a slightly better fighter than most other people. On the grand scale of nefarious schemes, this one ranks pretty close to the “moronic” end of the bell curve. I mean, how is being a marginally better kungfu guy than most other kungfu guys going prove profitable to anyone other than, say, a guy in the Ultimate Fighting Championship? And then, you have to get the ref to allow you to wear sunglasses while you’re fighting. And it’s not like Eric Roberts put a sports band or anything on those glasses, so they will eventually just fall off. But it doesn’t matter anyway, because we’re a few centuries away from the era when being good at kungfu guaranteed global supremacy. You remember when the world was ruled by kungfu guys, right?

Complicating Roberts’ already goofy plan is the fact that the original DOA founder’s daughter, Helena, is an aspiring DOA combatant herself and is beginning to suspect Roberts is up to something her father wouldn’t have approved of. Oh, and there’s Katsumi’s missing brother. In between that nonsense and all the awful dialog are a whole bunch of choppy fights of varying quality, a game of volleyball, and well, that’s pretty much it. DOA has absolutely no surprises to offer even the most easily surprised viewer. But does that mean this movie is as awful as it sounds? Not actually.


The script, such as it is, comes to us courtesy of a trio of writers who actually have, if not a respectable track record writing good action films, then at least a modest record writing halfways decent action films. J.F. Lawton scripted two of the better Steven Seagal films (as odd as that statement may seem to some), Under Seige and Under Seige II, as well as the cult film spoof Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death. His big gig, however (besides writing Pretty Woman, but what does that have to do with us?), was as a regular writer for the goofy television series VIP, in which a group of models (I really liked Natalie Raitano) run a private investigation service. And when you realize that was one of Lawton’s former jobs, the entire look and feel of DOA makes perfect, predictable sense. With a few tweaks here and there, this really could pass as a VIP movie, right down to the three-letter title. Lawton worked on more serious action films like The Hunted starring Joan Chen and Christopher Lambert fighting ninjas, and he worked on goofier action movies, like the Damon Wayans superhero spoof misfire Blankman. So you can pretty much see where the script for DOA came from.

Script contributors Seth and Adam Gross were writers for Bill Nye, the Science Guy. I guess they came up with Eric Roberts’ crazy science scheme, although I think the sheer goofiness of it all makes it more of a Beakman thing, really.

I’m also guessing that producer Paul W.S. Anderson — who I like to mix up all the time with Wes Anderson and Paul Thomas Anderson — had a pretty heavy hand when it came to both the script and the direction. Anderson is divisive writer, producer, and director whose sole purpose in life is to make as many Resident Evil movies as possible. I actually like more of his stuff than I don’t, though when I hate his movies (both Aliens vs. Predators), I really hate his movies. Still, I enjoyed a lot of his movies: Event Horizon, the first Mortal Kombat (but definitely not the second), those Death Race remakes, even the Resident Evil movies. I think he had the idea for this movie when he was rewatching Mortal Kombat 2 (making him the only person in the world who ever rewatched Mortal Kombat 2) and got to the clumsy mud fight between two women in the rain and thought to himself, “This should be an entire movie.”


Cory Yuen’s direction is a little uninspired compared to other efforts, though he puts his craft to good use in filming the ladies (Yuen has previous experience with cheesecake kungfu thanks to his turn in the director’s seat of Women on the Run, which features some rather interesting, um, kung-nude). DOA lacks the slick polish of So Close, though Yuen is still adept at making cheap films look flashy. Even though the cinematography may be lacking, he misses no opportunity to randomly cut to a shot of someone’s ass or cleavage, so he’s not totally off his game here. And while Yuen is used to making non-martial artists look like martial artists, he really has his work cut out for him in this movie. Aoki and Valance seem to possess almost no athletic ability whatsoever, and so to pass them off as fighters, Yuen relies on gravity-defying wirework and jumpy editing, as well as a dollop of CGI. He does the most he can with what little he has, but no one is going to be mistaking these gals for legitimate fighters.

Jamie Pressly fares better largely because she has a pretty athletic build and looks like she really could deliver some punches and kicks and make you feel them. There’s a reason why she’s the one out of all these women who went on to have the biggest acting career (well, if you consider a cameo on Entourage to be a big career). She’s adept at both the job of acting and the job of looking believable in the fight scenes. Kane Kosugi gets to have one fight scene all to himself, which ends up being the only fight scene that looks anything like vintage Cory Yuen, since this is a guy who knows martial arts fighting a bunch of stuntmen. But even though this fight is pretty good, the award for best fight scene has to go to the one between Valance and Sarah Carter, who plays Helena. And that’s because that fight is between two fighters in bikinis. On the beach. In the rain. In slow motion. Cory Yuen knows how to keep it classy, though to be fair, he did also give us the “Jason Statham topless in oil” fight scene in The Transporter, so there is something to be said for his equal opportunity nature. A shame Kane Kosugi wasn’t game for a similar scene. Did you see him climbing Mount Midoriyama in the rain on Ninja Warrior? Surely they could have worked something like that into here.


I can’t speak to the sexism of the games, because I have never played them. Given that they have breast jiggle settings however, I could make an educated guess that most of the fans are not the same gender as the one whose D-cup physics are being tweaked. As for the sexism in this movie — eh, I would not argue in its defense. It is, after all, a movie about bikini models in a fighting tournament. That in itself is not particularly controversial. You know we here at Teleport City avidly promote the unclothing of all people who are willing. But Yuen’s camera has a Jess Franco-like tendency to dwell on rear ends and pelvic areas, although unlike Franco’s, Yuen’s are at least partially clothed. There’s a creepy dissecting vibe to shots like this that could have been defused if he’d been as willing to leer at the men. I know he’s willing to do this. Like I said, this is the guy who could not wait to get Jason Statham out of a shirt. He’s also the man that gave the world Billy Chow fighting in his tighty-whities, and I feel like he’s probably given us a bare-assed Sammo Hung or Yuen Biao at least once in his career. I’m not going to claim that I found the PG-13 sleaziness of this movie offensive; Lord knows I’ve rolled with infinitely worse, and this at the end of the day is really little more than a Frankie and Annette beach party movie with a fight-to-the-death tournament in it.

Yuen manages to wring a few other choice action sequences from a game but largely incapable cast. He also manages to film someone’s crotch framed by someone else’s crotch, which has to be some sort of first. His skill alone is what elevates this film above the level of, say, an Andy Sidaris action film. Aoki and purple-wig wearing Malthe have a decent wirefu match-up in a bamboo forest, which many people have pegged as a cheap knock-off of the bamboo forest fight in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, even though it has more in common with the same type of scene as presented in Andrew Lau’s Stormriders. The finale against a super-powered Eric Roberts (who’s acting suggests that if you asked him today, he might not even be aware of the fact that he ever even appeared in this film) isn’t exactly solid fight choreography, but it’s still funny and exciting because, well hell, it’s Eric Roberts. What the hell is even going on? And by this point, Yuen has resorted to his trademark jettisoning of any and all semblances of logic or reality, and believe me when I say that semblances of logic and reality are the last thing a movie like this needs.

Release Year: 2006 | Country: United States | Starring: Jaime Pressly, Holly Valance, Sarah Carter, Devon Aoki, Natassia Malthe, Eric Roberts, Matthew Marsden, Kevin Nash, Collin Chou, Kane Kosugi, Steve Howey | Screenplay: J.F. Lawton, Adam Gross, Seth Gross | Director: Corey Yuen Kwai | Producer: Paul W.S. Anderson and about 20 other guys | Music: Junkie XL

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Urotsukidoji: Legend of the Overfiend

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I was having a hard time starting this review, and I’m not sure why. I don’t mean that I was caught in some moral dilemma, wondering if I should dare discuss such a filthy, irredeemable piece of trash — I think we all know how such a moral dilemma would hash out if I’m involved. I guess it was just a case of writer’s block, or exhaustion. Or maybe it was the fact that there were just so many things to say, so many approaches that could be taken in discussing the source material, that I was overwhelmed. Perhaps even spoiled for choice. And under a bit of pressure. An epic as vast and sprawling and serious as this demands an appropriately grave and serious demeanor. Would I do the subject justice? Would my review be deserving of such a monumental work of art? In the end, I simply had to accept that sometimes words don’t come easy, even to a rambling windbag like me, but like the titular character of the Overfiend, while words may not come easily, they must come never the less.

Which brings me to the disagreeable preface that must be applied to a review of a film of this nature. As regular readers know, I pride myself in ardently defending the standards and decency of the community. Luckily, since the community to which I refer is the Internet, which means pretty much anything short of Hitler jerking off on Jesus while the Savior makes sweet love to a little boy can be considered decent and acceptable. Still, even with the community standards of the Internet thus established, I feel like I should warn some of our less seasoned and no doubt happier readers that the movie about which we’re going to talk today is a work of questionable morality and ill repute.


At this point in my career, I don’t think any recreated act on film or video could manage to shock or offend me. Amuse, perhaps. Disappoint, sure. But when you’ve been at this for as long as I have, the disconnect between make-believe and reality becomes crystal clear, and once you’ve managed that, there’s not much point in getting offended by goofy make-believe sleaze. But I understand that not all of you share this particular immunity toward offense, for a variety of valid personal reasons, so allow me to warn you now: Legend of the Overfiend is utter and absolute filth. Unless, like me, what was human in you died a long time ago, you will find this series inexcusably tasteless, offensive, and perhaps even upsetting. In a couple weeks, I’ll be reviewing the ridiculously fun and enjoyable Bollywood caper Shaan, and I suggest that if you have heart or soul left in your being, you simply rejoin us then and give this whole horrible Legend of the Overfiend thing a miss.

On the other hand, if you find cartoon tentacle porn more absurd than upsetting, and if you want to slog through a film that is indeed filthy and wretched, but also one of the single most important titles in the history of anime in the United States, then steel yourself, make sure your boss isn’t working (I’m writing this at work — I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be reading it there), and prepare to submerge yourself in a series that is impressive both for how callously offensive and perverse it strives to be while also striving to be colossally epic and vast in scale — sort of like the Old Testament.


When, during the summer of 2006, Teleport City decided to dig about in the waters of anime from the 1980s, we mentioned on more than one occasion that the eighties were probably the most glorious decade of unfettered excess and decadence in the anime world. The giant robots and melancholy space pirates of the 1970s gave way to hot chicks in battle armor, exploding heads, and the now infamous birth of tentacle porn, among other things. While today’s anime market may be choked with cheap hentai titles full of tentacle rape and nurses pooping on each other, it’s neither as shocking nor as notable today as it was in the eighties, for two main reasons. First, the eighties did it first, and just about everything that happens today is derivative of the sleazy pioneers of the 1980s. Modern sleazeball anime may have plumbed further into the depths of human perversions and replaced magical demon bodily fluids with actual human bodily fluids, but given how mainstreamed porn and sexual deviance has become (and God bless it!), even the most shockingly sick and twisted modern hentai lacks the punch of its forefathers, if for no other reason than we’ve seen it all before. I don’t know what it says about me or society that a title like Cool Devices can come out, and my reaction is a decadent sigh of boredom and, “Oh, ho hum. He’s peeing on his sister.”

Second, modern hentai (for you people who don’t take time to acquaint yourself with esoteric terms, “hentai” is what people call porn anime so they don’t have to call it porn anime) exists largely and almost exclusively within the confines of the porn ghetto. There is very little, if any, cross-over between hentai and the more mainstream world of shrieking blonde ninjas in orange jumpsuits telling me to “believe it!” Of course, I speak only of official production anime; if one needs to find the crossover between porn and mainstream anime, one need only turn to our dear old friend, the Internet, which will allow you to access a whole world of fanfic in which the characters of Naruto lick each others buttholes while fending off an endless attack of bad grammar and spelling mistakes. But that’s fanfic, and it’s a ghetto all its own. Only Dragonball filk is lower.


There was plenty of underground hentai in the 80s, of course, but there were also several titles which crossed the line (in more ways than one) and either flirted with or achieved legitimate mainstream crossover success. Here in the United States, when anime broke in the latter half of the Reagan era, it was defined primarily by three titles, though only two are ever really acknowledged as having reigned supreme, while the third is filed away as sort of this guilty curiosity that no one really saw, but don’t let that sort of anime history revisionism fool you. There were three king hell titles: Akira was the obvious top of the heap, followed by the OVA Bubblegum Crisis, which dominated the home video market for reasons I still cannot fathom to this day. I guess it was all we had at the time, and it was better than watching MD Geist.

The third title comes to us courtesy of one of the creators of the classic anime series Yamato, aka Starblazers in the United States, and even though Akira is named time and again as the defining moment in 80s anime and one of the landmark accomplishments in the history of anime as a whole, it was the bastard son of a writer-director-producer Yoshinobu Nishizaki — The Nish, as he has become known lately — that really defined anime in the mainstream press. In between creating Starblazers, delighting generations with Odin: Photon Space Sailer Starlight, and shooting cannons off on his private yacht, Nishizaki found time to serve as producer for a new series which, unlike all his previous ideas, wasn’t just a rehash of Yamato. Following the lead of Lovecraft-inspired horror that flirted with graphic sex presented to us in Wicked City, Nishizaki decided that the one thing wrong with that movie was that it only featured some sex thrown in with its violence, and never had the guts to show full-on penetration of a woman by a gigantic demon penis.


And so, as the 90s came to a close and the window for getting a high-profile work of such decadence and depravity was closing, Nishizaki collected together a crew that included director Hideki Takayama (still brand new to the game in 1989, but he’s since gone on to direct all sorts of screwed-up demon rape porn, and for some reason, Sakura Wars) and writer Sho Aikawa (who was fresh off the popular title Vampire Princess Miyu and would go on to write for Fullmetal Alchemist), and together, they made a little OVA series called Urotsukidoji, more popularly known as Legend of the Overfiend.

This is a pretty dubious assembly of talent, and one sort of has to stretch the meaning of the word talent to really fit them all in. After all, Nishizaki hadn’t really come up with anything memorable since Starblazers, and he seemed to be batshit insane in addition. Sho Aikawa — who I’d like to think is the same Sho Aikawa who would go on to acting fame in Takashi Miike’s Dead or Alive trilogy, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t — may have achieved some degree of respectability with Vampire Princess Miyu, but that was flirtation with respectability, at best, and you have to do much better work if you want to make people forget about you also having written Dog Soldier and Angel Cop. And director Hideki Takayama? Other than becoming the go-to guy for Overfiend sequels and rip-offs, he doesn’t have much to offer. But the fact remains that while they may not have been impressive names, they were still names, and they had some legitimate work under the belt. And The Nish, crazy or not, still had Yamato era clout that helped make his own private exploration of ridiculously grotesque and pornographic extremes more of a high profile release than the average piece of hentai naughtiness.


But whatever respectability the Overfiend saga — and porn aside, it is a saga, complete with a vast and ambitious personal mythology and epic scope — may have squeezed out in Japan is nothing compared to what happened to the thing when it hit the United States. It became a cult phenom that, for a brief time, very nearly rivaled the status of Akira, albeit with a decidedly different tone in those who talked about it. I remember seeing it for the first time in 1990, when a friend who was heavy into trading VHS tapes to get obscure horror films, ended up with a copy on a tape where it shared space with some Japanese porn movie about a woman pursued by a garbage bag containing her murdered husband, and an underground video of some chick performing “hanadensha,” or “pussy arts,” such as blowing up balloons, shooting a dart gun, smoking a cigarette, and, umm, filling herself up with squirming, live eels. Yeah, I really don’t have any excuse whatsoever, other than it was pretty late, and we sure did laugh a lot.

It was just the first episode of Overfiend, fuzzy and with no translation, so all we really knew was that there was a spectacle on the screen the likes of which we’d never really seen, not even in Wicked City. And we weren’t the only ones. Bootleg copies of this “ridiculously screwed up thing from Japan” were circulating like wild fire throughout the cult film underworld, and while many looked on with awe-inspired disgust, that doesn’t change the fact that many looked on, always corrupted by a friend waving a VHS tape and saying, “Dude, you have got to see this!” So many saw it, in fact, that the Overfiend eventually crept into mainstream consciousness and became the poster boy for how hideous and corrupt anime was. Not just porn anime, but all anime. It didn’t matter if it was the gender bending shenanigans of Ranma 1/2, the turgid teen romance of Kigamure Orange Road, or the epic science fiction of Akira. Overfiend, as far as the local newscaster was concerned, embodied them all, and all anime looked like and was as perverse as Urotsukidoji. If only. I might have finished Kigamure Orange Road if that had been the case.


Of course, it’s not like anime was totally innocent of the charges. The 80s were, as we’ve said, pretty packed to the gills with messed up stuff. If anything, The Overfiend was simply the trends of the 1980s taken to their most logical extreme, or as logical as Nishizaki was ever capable of being, and exploding in the final year of that decade with all the gruesome force of the Overfiend’s orgasm blowing some chick’s head off in a messy splash of blood, brains, and semen. It was the last gasp of the twisted, free-for-all of the 1980s. After that, anime settled down, and the porn settled to the bottom of the barrel. In time, when old timers would go back and talk about the seminal movies of the 1980s, they would neglect to mention the most “seminal” of them all. If Urotuskidoji was mentioned, it was usually as an offhanded aside, or a sneering condemnation of how this tasteless abomination ruined anime and made everyone thing anime fans were all a bunch of murderous pervs. Rarely will they mention that, for better or for worse, damn near everyone who watched anime in those days saw it. Rarely will they mention that it was, again for better or for worse, a defining title of the era, and that among other dubious claims to fame, it was the first anime feature (when the OVA episodes were edited together to create a feature film) to be released in both dubbed and subtitled format not just to U.S. home video — but to U.S. movie theaters as well.


The Overfiend gets no respect, and frankly, it doesn’t deserve much. The animation is sometimes hit or miss, occasionally nicely realized, and in some cases bordering on great; the story is scatter-brained; and yes, it’s packed full of misogynistic violence toward women, underaged sex (though the warning at the front of the film swears the high school characters are all over the age of nineteen), and rape that culminates in exploding heads. It’s just not very good. But it does have its moments, and good or not, it played a huge role in defining the formative years of anime, and deserves, if nothing else, to be recognized for its contributions (be there good or ill) and its rightful place in the history of anime. So it was that I decided that, while I wasn’t going to champion the series (I save my Nishizaki championing for Odin), I would at least try to put it in it’s proper context, and I would do so with the help, should they chose to offer it, of the great and mighty torchbearers of celebrating “old school” anime, the Anime World Order podcast. Of course, they’re a podcast, and I’m a written review website, so I don’t know exactly how this collaboration will work out, but that’s all part of the fun.


Of course, as soon as Gerald from the AWO took me up on the offer, I had to figure out exactly how I was going to deal with such a notorious and admittedly irredeemable piece of filth. The Overfiend, I mean, not Gerald. In my younger years, I would have simply indulged in it with reckless abandon, celebrating the filth and the fury with slimy screencaps and interminable gusto. I am older now, and not so prone to adolescent fits of petty offensiveness, but I’m also still not offended by things that are saucy or stupid, or in the case of Urotsukidoji, both saucy and stupid. And in the end, Urotsukidoji is definitely stupider than it is offensive. In fact, I find the whole thing so absurd, so totally ludicrous as to be inoffensive, because seriously, man, how can anyone take this crap seriously? There are much scarier things in the world and much scarier things in the world of anime, and they are called moe and harem shows, but we’ll come to those later.

So in deference to my more sensitive readers who do not share my callous disregard for what you humans call morality, I’ll do my best to exercise some degree of restraint, which may be an odd thing to do in the case of Urotsukidoji — but only just barely, because while I may claim that the purpose of this review is to put this much maligned piece of trash in its rightful place in the pantheon of anime, my real motivation is simply to have a good laugh, which ultimately, is about all you should get from something as completely goofy as the Overfiend.


Our story begins with narration courtesy of a guy who seems to be competing with Tomisaburo Wakiyama as Ogami Ito for the deepest voice in the world. He lays out the basics for us — demon world and human world, one intruding on the other — the usual. And there’s a chosen one who will rise up and cleanse the world and unite us all while demons with six breasts do it doggy style to clue parents in to the fact that they shouldn’t have rented this movie for their kids, even though the kids themselves are no doubt appreciative. Right away Nishizaki clues us in to the fact that there’s not going to be much in the way of originality on display in this story. We then meet the nominal hero of our story, a goofy peeping tom named Nagumo, who alternates his days between peeking in the girls’ locker room and being licked on the cheek by the number one ace hero of the basketball court during some weird Japanese high school sport in which basketball games are accompanied by a girls’ gymnastics routine. Watching everything from up in the rafters is Amano, the new kid at school who no one seems to notice has catlike whiskers. Amano is searching for the titular Overfiend, the super-being foretold by prophecy to be the savior of the world. Amano is pretty convinced that it’s that cheek-licking basketball guy, but Amano’s sexy sister Megumi is convinced that it’s someone else, possibly nerdy perv Nagumo. Either way, once again we see that ancient beings relying on a “chosen one” is always a stupid idea, because the chosen one is always some kind of a chump. Here we get a face-licking basketball star or a masturbating nerd. Nice going, prophecy of old.

When next we meet the brave and noble Nagumo, he is slinking into the school to peep on Ameki, the sweet girl next door on whom he has a crush, and one of the female teachers. When it turns out that the teacher intends to sex up the young student, Nagumo assumes his standard position of peeking in. But when it’s further revealed that the teacher is, in fact, a hideous demonic monster that is going to rape Akemi via a twitching tangle of giant tentacle penises that spurt glowing neon goo, well, Nagumo still just sort of squats there peeping through the crack in the doorway. It’s not until Amano shows up that the sexual assault is halted thanks to some good ol’ magical intervention that results in exploding heads.


The good thing about Legend of the Overfiend is that it doesn’t try to trick you into thinking it’s something it’s not. If you are going to be offended and disgusted by the movie, it makes sure you know that from the very first few minutes. That way, at least you haven’t wasted your time. Pretty much everything that will jam pack the rest of the series running time is put up front for your consideration in this opening scene, so you can’t say Nishizaki didn’t warn you. Personally, as I said before, the whole scenario is so utterly silly and juvenile and presented in such an over-the-top manner that it’s really hard for me to feel offended in any way. I would have loved to have been sitting in on The Nish and his crew when they were writing the story for this absurd exercise in the extreme. Although the story itself is presented in a serious fashion, I can’t imagine anyone taking it the least bit seriously when they were writing it.

But then again, Nishizaki is batshit insane, so who knows? Whatever sexual and psychological hang-ups he and the society in which he lived might have had are certainly laid bare in The Overfiend. There is an obvious fear and lack of understanding in regards to women. Lesbians are all secretly drooling demons who have hidden their giant penises behind a veneer of femininity. And even as they paint a terrified phobia of homosexuality, they fetishize the penis to a degree that would even make Tom of Finland blush. If you are the type to analyze such things, it’s worth noting that The Nish made his millions working on the Yamato series. The original battleship Yamato was a massive World War II ship that was supposed to be the pride and joy of the Japanese people and a symbol of their might. Its construction bankrupted the Japanese military, and during it’s first major combat operation, it was sunk by American airplanes. Still, however, the Yamato is held up by many — mostly men — as a great symbol of pride despite it being a catastrophic failure. More than a few people have said that the Yamato was nothing more than the “big dick” syndrome. Theirs was the biggest and that made them the baddest. Never mind that the thing turned out to be impotent.


So decades later, Nishizaki resurrects the myth of Yamato’s grandeur by creating a cartoon series in which the original ship is recovered from its watery grave and turned into a spaceship that will save humanity. If The Nish had his history straight, then there would have been tremendous fanfare and pomp as the space battle cruiser Yamato was launched. Then it would have been shot down by aliens a few minutes later. But that would have been a pretty lame television series, and since Yamato is one of my favorites, I’m glad Nishizaki didn’t go that route. And ultimately, I reckon championing the old Yamato battleship is no different than any other country championing their lost causes.

Anyway, after Yamato, Nishizaki made a show about a submarine that’s turned into a spaceship — completely different from the Yamato series, right? Anyway, you may notice that Nishizaki — who also happens to be a gun and cannon nut, as well as sporting a fondness for speed boats and big yachts — seems to have a preoccupation with things that are long and cylindrical in shape. And then comes The Overfiend…I’ve never seen Nishizaki naked, and likely never will, so I can’t say what he’s compensating for. However, it’s pretty obvious that the man has built an entire career around his obsession with his own penis. Overfiend is just the most overt example.


Anyway, having established that this movie is going to be an affront to all that is decent and tasteful in the world, Overfiend then goes on to lay out the rest of its plot, which has got to be one of the most complex and sprawling mythologies ever grafted on to cheap animation and porn. Nishizaki may be obsessed with dicks, he may fear and/or hate women, he may be ripping off Wicked City, but no one can say that the man didn’t have vision or put work into the back story of his infamous masterpiece of the grotesque. Spread over the first few episodes of Legend of the Overfiend, we get a story that spans thousands of years and involves everything from depraved captains of industry to Nazi madmen, to peeping tom high school students. As Amano and Megumi continue to try and ferret out the Overfiend — or Chojin — other forces from the demon realm seek to do the same. This includes such demon assassin hits as messing with that basketball guy during his orgy, offering up a giant possessed demon penis that will make the school’s resident nerd ultra-potent and powerful if he chops off his own useless little member and replaces it, and finally sending a wizardy uber-being out to kill Amano. Just when you think Overfiend can’t possibly get any sillier, it finds a way.


Eventually, Nagumo realizes his destiny, but to the horror of Megumi and Amano, it’s not the destiny they expected — and for all that is ridiculous about Overfiend, the final revelation that basically, the people who believed in the prophecy just got it all wrong, is a pretty nice writing touch. The series ends on a cliffhanger of sorts — with Amano shedding his human disguise and attempting to take on the Overfiend himself while vowing to survive the carnage that comes from the inevitable destruction of the world. Unfortunately, the series is never fully resolved. The final two episodes of the OVA end up being post-apocalyptic side stories that don’t really go anywhere, and subsequent sequel series’ were equally pointless. Eventually, the final Urotsukidoji series was just a remake of the first series. If you’ve seen Odin and suffered through its non-ending, then you might pick up that this is sort of a thing for Nishizaki. Unfortunately, Overfiend does not end by randomly cutting to a Loudness music video.


Not all the blame (or credit — whatever) for Urotsukidoji can be laid at the feet of Nishizaki. Urotsukidoji was actually created by manga artist Toshio Maeda in 1986. Maeda was working as a porn manga artist and had gotten bored, he says, with drawing the same mundane crap over and over. He decided that what erotic manga needed was a dash of grotesque fantasy. Blending his erotic manga with a Lovecraft-esque sense of the horrific, Maeda more or less invented the tentacle porn genre — yes, it’s a genre now — with tentacles and nightmarish abstractions of the penis standing in for actual sexual organs as a way to skirt Japanese censorship laws. When Nishizaki seized upon Urotsukidoji as the source for his next masterpiece of anime, Maeda’s position as the father of sick and twisted cartoon porn was cemented. Maeda went on to create several more of the more infamous high-profile hentai titles of the early 1990s, including the terrible Adventure Kid, Demon Beast Invasion, and La Blue Girl. Maeda is infinitely proud of his legacy and has reportedly even said that he wants “Tentacle Master” inscribed on his tombstone. Urotsukidoji remain his defining “masterpiece.”


You know, Urotsukidoji is an absolute mess. Although the high concept is interesting and intricate, the execution leaves a lot to be desired. And it’s still largely just a pornographic rip-off of Wicked City with a bit of Akira thrown in (the scene in which the Overfiend comes full into power and decides to destroy the world is very reminiscent of the finale of Akira). It draws from the same Lovecraftian/H.R. Giger vision of horror as Wicked City. The characters are ridiculous — after being raped in every orifice by a teacher who turns into a slobbering monster, Akemi shows up for school the next day and is basically no more freaked out than, “Boy, that sure was weird.” Nagumo is completely impossible to like as a character. I guess the story is ultimately about Amano and, to a lesser degree, Megumi, which is OK since Amano is the only halfways decently developed character in the whole thing. The animation is often incredibly cheap, with limited motion in most scenes. Effort seems to have been put into the big battles and the demon rape, but that’s about it.

But for someone as awful as me, there’s a perverse enjoyment to be extracted from the nonsense. For one, I admire the ambition of the story. Most of the tentacle porn that would follow in the footsteps of Urotsukidoji was incredibly weak — basically, they would say, “There’s a demon world, and they rape humans and some people fight them,” and leave it at that, knowing that the ultimate goal of their little film is to get some lonely perv off, and he’s probably not even going to listen to the plot. That wasn’t good enough for Nishizaki. The man had created an expansive universe for Yamato, and even for Odin, and he saw no reason that Urotsukidoji shouldn’t enjoy the same epic mythology. Never mind that it was an endless parade of filthy porn and callous rape; he was still going to weave a monstrously complex tapestry to serve as the backdrop Also, as cheap as the animation is in most scenes, one does have to admire the imagination that went into the monster design. There are, after all, a lot of monsters in Urotsukidoji, and no two of them look alike. From hulking wolfman-like monsters to grotesque toadmen that dress like Humphrey Bogart, the sheer number of drooling ghouls the art team dreamed up is fascinating. Of course, at the end of the day, it’s all about the giant screaming (sometimes literally) cock, but still, points for wickedly sick imagination.


Finally, there’s the finale. Although it leaves almost all of the plot threads dangling and is a weak resolution to the story as a whole, the scenes of mass destruction and carnage as the fury of the Chojin and the whole demon world is unleashed on earth are pretty impressive. They obviously cut costs on the rest of the series so they could deliver on the finale, and at least in that respect, Urotsukidoji doesn’t disappoint.

But it’s still pretty foul. I wouldn’t really recommend it, although I was just as enthusiastic in the old days about convincing unsuspecting friends that they should watch it. But there is something grotesquely fascinating about the whole artistic abomination. The incredible insanity and over-the-top spectacle of it all trumps the nasty misogynistic edge and juvenile penis-obsession and really transforms Urotsukidoji into a sleazy carnival sideshow. You hate yourself for looking, but you can’t turn away. It’s that car wreck everyone slows down to gawk at. As wretched as it may be, it has a strangely hypnotic power that can draw even decent people into its world of laughing demons and spurting bodily fluids.


It might be worth watching just so you can see the cast list for the English dub. Apparently, whoever worked on it was a little embarrassed, so the English cast list includes names like Chris Courage, Rebel Joy, Rosie Palmer, and my two personal favorites, Lucy Morales and Jurgen Offen. I would assume that the use of such names is perfectly in tune with Nishizaki’s high school locker room level of discourse. The dubbing was done primarily for the theatrical cut of the film, which combined the first few OVA episodes into one film and cut out all the scenes of actual penetration. The Japanese cast (most of whom elected to have their names left out of the credits) actually includes a lot of experienced actors, including a lot of people The Nish roped in off the Yamato series and other Leiji Masumoto works. Tomohiro Nishimura, who voices Amano, even worked on My Neighbor Totoro! It’s sort of reminds me of all the respectable actors who showed up in Caligula.


If you are interested in the history and evolution of anime, you can’t help but pay attention to it. The dang thing played in American movie theaters, for criminey’s sake! Newspaper and TV reporters held it up as the sole defining example of “anime,” resulting in crusades to have anime banned and all anime fans branded as slobbering perverts, while at the same time, apologists tied themselves in knots trying to write pieces that deconstructed and analyzed the film and trumpeted its artistic merits (it’s a cautionary tale about teenage pregnancy or a cautionary tale against blind faith, depending on who’s writing the analysis). It was an absolute fiasco, and if nothing else, I always enjoy a good fiasco. As alarmist and shocked as the reaction in the U.S. was, it was even more sensational in England. In the U.K., things were a little more serious. Urotsukidoji practically destroyed the anime market in England, which was only just coming off the high of its infamous Video Nasties years. It took a long time before anime fandom in the U.K. could rebuild itself. Like its titular character, Urotsukidoji destroyed the world so it could rebuild a new and better one in its place. But the fact that it gutted the industry and made anime so incredibly difficult to obtain for many people might be the main reason, far more so than the actual pervy content of the series, so many people harbor a lingering distaste for this anime atrocity.


For me, personally, it didn’t make much of a difference. I didn’t suffer any of the “anime is all porn and anime fans are all perverts” stigma because, frankly, no one at my high school even know what anime was or was in any position to even hear about Overfiend or anime. everyone in Buckner, Kentucky, was too committed to the new Bocephus album at the time. So I have a much better sense of humor about this series than many other people who did get branded as freaks on account of it may have — even if they were Miyazaki fans and had never seen Overfiend. I mean, hell, as far as anyone I knew was concerned, if you were watching cartoons, period, you were just a nerd.

At the end of the day, Urotsukidoji is all those things and more — and less. It is filth. It is irredeemable. It does have artistic merit. It lacks artistic merit. It is shameless and offensive. It is ridiculous and harmless. It was the logical illogical extreme and the culmination of the increasingly outrageous nature of anime in the 1980s. You should avoid it like the plague. You should absolutely see it.


There’s really no way to make sense of the controversy and jungle of opinions surrounding the series. At the end of the day, you really just have to see for yourself. Me, I think it’s mildly entertaining in spots and ultimately harmless. In fact, as outrageous as the porn aspects of Urotsukidoji may be, when held up against certain aspects of the modern anime landscape, it seems to be little more than goofy doodling — quaint, almost, perhaps even innocent. And that’s because everything is presents is so preposterous that it can’t be taken seriously or really looked at as a corrupting agent. No one is going to go out and mimic the Chojin, after all. Compare that to something like the modern moe or harem show — things that may not feature a giant demon raping a woman and making her body explode with his semen, but instead paint a world where an unlikable loser with no redeeming qualities never the less finds himself in control of a group of slavishly devoted women who worship him like a god. Or moe, in which female characters are so overly precious and innocent and doe-eyed and pre-pubescent that the whole thing reeks of child pornography. These types of shows are far more insidious and perverse than the flashy, over-the-top idiocy of Urotsukidoji. They often appeal to a segment of the population that really does relate in some way to the lead male character and really does let the portrayal of women and little girls affect their opinions of the real world. I don’t see Urotsukidoji operating in quite the same fashion.


So yeah. Whatever man. Urotsukidoji is the tawdry piece of pornographic trash you’ve heard it is; it’s also not all that fiendish or corrupting. It’s just silly. But it is a major milestone in the history of anime, so if you are the type who needs or wants to understand the evolution of anime, then you pretty much have to deal with Urotsukidoji. It’s really not as painful as you think it might be. I mean, I wouldn’t watch it with my parents or invite a date over to watch it, but come on: it’s so loopy, so genuinely cracked in the head, and so unabashedly over-the-top, and so epic and ambitious that it really stops being offensive porn and starts being nothing more than a laughable freak show. And it does try to be something more than cheap porn. It tries to be really lavish, complex porn. Earlier, I made a passing reference to Caligula. Overfiend is definitely the Caligula of anime — fitting, even, since both films were funded with Penthouse money. They both contain about the same degree of perversion an twisted grotesquery (I’m pretty sure that’s not a word — but it is now!).

Release Year: 1989 | Country: Japan | Starring: Yasunori Matsumoto, Koichi Yamadera, Yoko Asagami, Daisuke Gori, Tomohiro Nishimura, Maya Okamoto, Hirotaka Suzuoki, Yumi Takada, Norio Wakamoto | Writer: Sho Aikawa | Director: Hideki Takayama | Music: Masamichi Amano | Producer: Yoshinobu Nishizaki, Yasuhito Yamaki | Original Title: Chojin densetsu Urotsukidoji

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Asoka

Asoka is a pretty funny guy to know absolutely nothing about. In terms of ancient world history, he was a man the caliber of Julius Caesar or Ghengis Khan or Qin Shi-huang, the first emperor of China. And like these men who were more familiar to me, Asoka embodies all that is noble and ruthless, admirable and despicable, about men who live lives of epic scale. These complexities in great men — “great” referring to the scope of the accomplishments and the impact they had on the world around them more than being a description of their demeanor or potential as a drinking buddy — make for superb cinema if you are willing to deal with these complexities. Many times, a movie is not, and you get a rather shallow, white-washed impression of the man (Julius Caesar more so than any of the others, at least in the West).

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Return of the Bastard Swordsman

1983 was an exceptionally big year for Hong Kong cinema. Ching Siu-tung’s Duel to the Death, Tsui Hark’s Zu, and Project A featuring the first major on-screen teaming of Jackie Chan, Sammo Hung, and Yuen Biao, all hit the screens during that year. So did Aces Go Places II, a sequel to the wildly popular Sam Hui-Karl Maka action comedy of the previous year. It was a good time to be the Hong Kong film industry. Things were up in the air to be sure, as they often are during a rebirth, but there was no getting around that this was a year of incredible, ground-breaking films.

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Bastard Swordsman

This is one of those movies that, upon completion, I can’t wait to sit down and write a review of. And then, when I do sit down, all I can do is stare at the blinking cursor on a blank screen as I wrack my brain mercilessly for some way to encompass in words the absolutely bonkers display of sheer lunacy I’ve just watched. This often happens to me when attempting to write about especially weird kungfu films, because as fans of kungfu films know, nothing — and that includes Alexandro Jodorowski movies — is quite as weird as a really weird kungfu film. With Jodorowski, one can at least ask oneself “what the hell was this director thinking?” then engage in all sorts of research and philosophical debate pertaining to the meaning of his films. Yes, they are excessively weird, but they are not undecipherable. With enough thought, you can attain some degree of understanding as to his purpose and message.

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Commando

Commando tells the story of young Chandu, who’s name changes in the subtitles to Chander about halfway through the movie. Either way, I’m simply calling him Commando, in honor of his arch nemesis being named Ninja. The movie begins when Commando is but a boy, and his father is the commando of the family, prone to taking his young son out on early morning workouts that involve singing, at least half a dozen different track suits, running, judo, horsing around on the playground, karate, riding horses on the beach, riding bikes, shooting rifles, getting punched repeatedly in the face by his father, and doing push-ups that look less like push-ups and more like a little kid making sweet, sweet love to the ground. Perhaps this is an allegory for young Chandu’s love for Mother India, but I don’t think it’s a proper way for a boy to behave toward his mother. So let’s just chalk it up to appalling push-up form and leave it at that.

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Two Undercover Angels

While many fans of B-movie and cult film tend to center their discussion of Franco on his horror and sexploitation (though one could argue that all his films fall into this latter category) output, I tend to be more familiar with his action and espionage films– and keep in mind that, when discussing Jess Franco, the term “action” is used in an extremely loose fashion by which “action” can be defined as people sitting in a nightclub watching a psychedelic performance art striptease, or it can mean two people standing silently and staring at a rug for a spell. But the reason I like looking at Franco’s non-horror films is that, within the realm of horror, and certainly within the more narrowly defined realm of European horror, there is already a lot of incompetence and weirdness and a tendency to abandon logic.

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Face of Fu Manchu

It seems fitting that my first post-thanksgiving review should be of a film this goofy. Thanksgiving back home in Kentucky was grand, as it included a visit to Churchill Downs where I raked in a small fortune in winnings (and by small, I mean small, like fifty bucks), bourbon drinking, fried chicken and fried biscuits at Joe Huber’s Orchard, Winery, and Family Restaurant, a visit to the Bass Pro Shop where I got to go on a light gun safari (end conclusion — you don’t want to hire me as your crack shot assassin — the only thing I could consistently hit was the turtle, and that was by accident), and a late-night conversation with my sister, my best friend from high school, as well as another friend newly met, about cadaver dissection in East St. Louis, machine gun battles in Guyana, and watching sub-dermal parasitic worms from the Amazon crawl around beneath the skin of your ankle.

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Boom

Whenever someone names a predictable title like Plan 9 from Outer Space or Robot Monster or Yor, the Hunter from the Future as one of the worst movies of all time, my inevitable response is that if they think that’s one of the worst movies of all time, then they obviously haven’t seen enough movies. Certainly not enough to be making such bold proclamations such as naming it one of the worst of all time.

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Delinquent Girl Boss: Worthless to Confess

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Things in the Japanese film industry were chugging along during the 1960s. The gradual erosion of restrictive post-war regulation of the Japanese film industry by occupying American forces (samurai and yakuza flicks were banned, as was just about anything that would “inspire the Japanese spirit”) meant that writers and directors were coming out of a long creative hibernation and finally getting to flex their brains again. Inoshiro Honda and Toho Studios were cranking out a steady stream of highly enjoyable fantasy, science fiction, and monster movies built on the foundation of the enduring success of Godzilla. Akira Kurosawa was making movies that no one would watch until Americans started discovering them in the 1970s. Takakura Ken and Akira Takarada were burning up screens as Japan’s two biggest matinee idols. Japan had yet to befoul the world by making M.D. Geist. All in all, not a bad time to be a film fan.

As Japan continued to distance itself from the wreckage of World War II and rapidly match the prosperity of the United States, more and more people started buying and watching television sets. As it had done in the United States some years before, this trend sent the movie industry into a panic, and not without good reason. Profits declined, attendance dropped, and back then, they couldn’t blame it on Internet downloading. The solution many film companies came up with was simple enough, and matches in many ways what cable channels like HBO have done: if you need to compete with broadcast television, do so by packing your features with the kind of stuff you can’t put on TV. This means, as you can guess, more sex, violence, and people calling each other “cocksucker.”

Suffice to say that in the 1970s, cinema censorship laws became increasingly lax both as a way to help salvage the industry and simply because the natural trend after severe restriction is usually toward greater leniency, Japanese studios started cramming more violence and tits into their movie. In other words, they started making the sort of films about which Teleport City can get enthusiastic. Shintoho opened the gateway during the late 50s and 60s by continuously pushing the envelope on crime and action films centered around female protagonists and seedy environments. Nikkatsu Studio blazed the trail with a series of films that became known as “Roman Porno” films — though disappointingly, these are not a bunch of Japanese movies about decadent ancient Romans; it was just a shortening of the phrase “Romantic Porno,” because saving yourself the second it takes you to pronounce the one additional syllable in “romantic” adds up to several seconds over a lifetime, or several minutes if you are in the industry and thus more likely to be saying “romantic porno.”


Nikkatsu was one of Japan’s first film studios. During World War II, the consolidation toward the war effort of Japan’s limited resources resulted in Nikkatsu becoming part of Daiei Studios, probably most famous to readers of Teleport City as the eventual home of Gamera. After the war, Nikkatsu returned to its independent status, but Daiei got to keep all the production facilities. Nikkatsu had to start from scratch, and they financed the rebuilding of their studio by relying heavily on distributing foreign films rather than making their own. Audiences that still had to deal with the aftermath of the war looming outside their door (if indeed they still had doors) were ravenous for any form of escape, and American administrators were much happier to see Japanese audiences flocking to American westerns and action films rather than reviving their own films.

When Nikkatsu had built up the capital it needed to finance the establishment of new facilities and begin production again, it opted to look to the foreign films it had been distributing with great success as inspiration for their own films, rather than returning as most studios had to the standard set of pre-war genres (some of which, as mentioned, were banned by Allied administrators). Thus, American and French new wave films became the models Nikkatsu would look to, which meant the resulting films were considerably different from anything else being made in Japan at the time.

The new Nikkatsu was built around a core of stars, and it began attracting the attention of filmmakers who were interested in experimenting with film and making movies that other, more traditional studios, weren’t willing to chance. Thus, Nikkatsu soon became the home of people like the maverick director Seijun Suzuki, whose films were often so inventive and outlandish that even liberal Nikkatsu sought to reel him in by slashing his budgets and forbidding him to use color film stock — a move that resulted in Suzuki making Branded to Kill, the most off-beat and cracked-in-the-head films in his repertoire (at least until he remade it as Pistol Opera).

Although well-respected now, Suzuki’s films weren’t exactly the sort of thing that could save a studio. Quite the opposite, frankly. As the film industry crisis grew more pressing throughout the 60s, Nikkatsu decided that it was time to ramp up the nudity. Thus the birth of Roman Porno. The term was meant to differentiate the Nikkatsu films from straightforward pornos, which have always existed in the underground and, during the 1970s, were really starting to make their mark on society in a much bolder and more mainstream fashion. The Nikkatsu films, by contrast, still boasted a budget, recognizable actors, and even respectable writers and directors. Of course, they were still sleazy melodramas full of gratuitous nudity, too, and that’s what made the m special. The Nikkatsu films tended to explore increasingly bizarre sexual territory, delving frequently into the world of S&M and rape. They were also cheap and easy to make and helped keep the studio afloat when so many other, less daring (or sleazy, or opportunistic, if you prefer) studios were tanking in the great industry collapse that plagued the 70s. A similar crash took out the British film industry around the same time (Hammer Studios being one of the most famous casualties), and the attempt to salvage operations by increasing the levels of sex and violence in the films was pretty much a world-wide phenomenon.

Also badly in need of an injection of life, Toei Studios decided to jump on the sex and violence bandwagon, though they tended to take a decidedly different approach than the Roman Porno movies of the infamous Nikkatsu. Toei was doing well with a variety of action-oriented films, so they decided that they should stick with the action movies, but jam them with more nudity and even greater amounts of violence. Thus was born the pinky violence film. Once Toei established the framework, plenty of other studios followed it. Even Nikkatsu flirted with it when they made their Stray Cat Rock films with Meiko Kaji before committing themselves almost entirely to Roman Porno movies. These pinky violence movies tended to exist within an established number of settings: they were either turn-of-the-century female samurai/gambler movies (Sex and Fury, Female Yakuza Tale, and the Lady Snowblood movies starring Meiko Kaji and based on manga by Kazuo Koike — the man who brought Lone Wolf and Cub to the world) derived from less sexual but scarcely less violent precursors like the Crimson Bat and Red Peony Gambler films; or they were “girl gang” or “juvenile delinquent girl” (sukeban) movies. From time to time, a women-in-prison film would get thrown into the mix, the most famous being the Female Convict Scorpion movies starring Meiko Kaji (if you’re going to watch Japanese exploitation films, you’d best get used to seeing her name).

For the most part, though, girl gangs ruled the roost, because they were easiest to film. They didn’t require period sets or costumes. Directors could shoot guerilla-style at various locations around Japan, usually without worrying about casting extras or getting permits (which is why so many of these films — Delinquent Girl Boss: Worthless to Confess included — feature shots of the characters walking down the street surrounded by onlookers gawking directly at them or into the camera). And you could make the same movie over and over with only a few tweaks to keep it interesting (this movie has a gang of girls just out of reform school; that movie has a biker gang; and so on).

What made these exploitation films interesting is…well, no. Tits and violence made them interesting. But what made them intellectually interesting is that they became the playground for a lot of inventive directors who felt the more traditional films hamstrung them and wouldn’t allow them to explore wild new directing styles and story content. So amid the boobs and bloodshed, you often got films with highly creative and ground-breaking direction, as well as plots that tackled all sorts of subjects (violence against women, Japanese racism, war crimes, et cetera) still considered taboo in the Japanese mainstream. Sometimes the messages were there as cheap justification for the exploitation. Sometimes, the exploitation was there to make the message easier to express. Whatever the case, it made for some completely wild films that offer up all sorts of potential for discussion.

For the most part, these films remained unseen by all but a few hardened tape traders in the United States, who would suffer bad VHS dupes and no translation just for a chance to see the psychedelic madness of 1970s Japanese pop exploitation. Luckily, the relative cheapness of DVD over VHS, as well as an increasingly receptive group of Japanese studios (previously, they were notoriously antagonistic toward foreign distribution and charged insane prices to license their titles — something anime companies still like to do), the hitherto untapped reservoirs of Japanese yakuza and pinky violence movies are finally seeing the light of day in the United States. For fans like me, the efforts of companies like HVE, Kino, Diskotec, and Panik House are enough to bring to the eye a sweet, sweet tear of joy. Finally, I have something other than the three-hundred different budget DVD versions of Sonny Chiba’s Street Fighter and Legend of the Eight Samurai.

In 2006, Panik House released the only DVD besides Space Thunder Kids that I’ve purchased in the past year (Netflix and the purchase of a new car and thus new car payments have combined to quell my once lusty DVD buying habit): The Pinky Violence Collection. Collecting four notable girl gang movies (and one audio CD) into an eye-blistering hot pink package stuffed with liner notes from author Chris D. (author of Mavericks of Japanese Cinema), it was pretty easy for the set to convince me to part with my cash during one of those Deep Discount DVD sales.

Delinquent Girl Boss: Worthless to Confess is the first of these films we will be sampling, although it turns out that while it is certainly a great film, it’s not exactly what you might call indicative of the trend as a whole (neither, for that matter, was Stray Cat Rock: Sex Hunter). As with the Stray Cat Rock: Sex Hunter, Worthless to Confess is part of a series of films that, to date, have only seen the one film released (when oh when do I get the rest of my Stray Cat Rock movies? I just can’t get enough Meiko Kaji in a big, floppy hat like those psychedelic trolls used to wear). In the case of the Delinquent Girl Boss films, Worthless to Confess is the final in the series, though it would seem that, at the very least, this film is a self-contained adventure that has very little carried over from the earlier films. I don’t know if the other three were more connected to one another, but the point here is that you really don’t need to go into this film worried that you haven’t seen the previous three, except in the capacity of really wanting to see the first three films because you figure they’re probably pretty cool.


These Zubeko Bancho films were considerably less sleazy than most of the pinky violence films, and the women in them are treated with much greater kindness than you’d see in films like, oh let’s say Terrifying Girl’s High School. Unfortunately it’s hard to make statements about th Zubeko Bancho series as a whole, having not seen the rest. There’s not a lot of information floating around about them. I’m not a casual fan by any stretch of the imagination, but I also fall fairly short of “dedicated scholar.” I guess I’m a lazy scholar. I haven’t put forth the effort to track down and watch all the films in the series (I can’t even find cast and credits list for the other movies. Hell, can’t even find a complete list of titles for the series), so remember that the bold, sweeping statements I make are based pretty much entirely on seeing this one, final film in the series. What can’t be gleaned from it has been cribbed from various liner notes and the scant other resources I managed to turn up.

I don’t want to stray too far into the realm of plot synopsis, but I do want to lay out the opening scene of this film, as it sets a thematic tone for everything that comes after. We open on a group of juvenile delinquent girls at reform school movie night, where they are supposed to be suffering through a documentary about the flora and fauna of the Hokkaido region. However, the projectionist has been convinced by the girls that he should show one of Takakura Ken’s Abashiri Prison films instead. As the girls go nuts over seeing yakuza matinee idol Takakura Ken leaping about in the Hokkaido snow, slicing chumps down with his trusty katana, prison officials try to figure out what kind of nature documentary this is. Once they figure out Hokkaido’s Great Outdoors is actually one of the Abashiri Bangaichi movies, they pull the plug, resulting in a modest riot of shoe and panty flinging.

Opening with a salute to the Abashiri Prison series means rather a lot to this sort of film. The most obvious is the simple act of homage. During the 1960s, Takakura Ken was one of the biggest (perhaps the biggest) stars in Japan, thanks in large part to his frequent appearances as a noble yakuza fighting battles full of honor and humanity. The Abashiri Prison series was his long-running string of films that all seem to start with him as a yakuza freshly released from Abashiri Prison with visions of “going straight” only to get caught up in some sort of gangland turmoil so that the film can end with him going back to Abashiri Prison as some trumpet-heavy closing theme song wails in the background. I believe if you totaled all the films, Takakura Ken served 1,700 years in Abashiri Prison over the course of the series.

Like most movies that become pop culture phenomenon, the first Abashiri Prison film wasn’t meant to be very much more than a quick, cheap yakuza film. But something about the movie and it’s story of a man who proudly clings to the tradition of yakuza nobility and honor even as the world around him descends into cynicism resonated with young Japanese audiences, who perhaps saw it as a metaphor for Japan’s struggle in the wake of World War II. Here, after year of waiting, was a film that grandly celebrated these mythical Japanese qualities. Folks ate it up, and a franchise was born.

Most of the Abashiri Prison films were directed by a guy named Teruo Ishii, who directed a series of sci-fi and crime films during the 50s and 60s. In 1965, he helmed Abashiri Prison, and suddenly he was one of the most successful directors in Japan. But since Japan didn’t really embrace the auteur theory or create cults of personality around directors, you can’t really say Ishii became a superstar. Still, he was successful enough to throw his weight around the studio a bit, and he followed up a successful string of Takakura Ken yakuza films by doing what any good director would do: going completely off the deep end and indulging in a career full of increasingly bizarre, sick, and twisted sex and violence films that include titles like The Joy of Torture, the still-banned Horror of a Deformed Man, Hell’s Tattooers, and a couple Yakuza Punishment films. Ishii’s film’s pushed the envelope for the amount of deviant sex and weirdness a director could cram into his films, and his late 60s work definitely kicked down the door and made Nikkatsu’s Roman Porno films viable.

Oddly enough when everyone was enjoying the fruits of the tolerance for perversion and sex that Ishii helped sow, Ishii himself opted to shift gears yet again, working primarily on a parade of Sonny Chiba karate films (including Street Fighter’s Last Revenge, the superb Executioner, and Karate Inferno). In 1973, he contributed to the pinky violence trend by directing Female Yakuza Tale, a sequel to director Norifumi Suzuki’s Sex and Fury (both starring Reiko Ike — whose name you’ll be seeing pretty much as often as Meiko Kaji’s). Ishii remained sporadically active throughout the 80s and 90s before dying in August of 2005. While he may not have the name recognition of, say, Akira Kurosawa or Inoshiro Honda, you can’t really fault a guy whose final film was titled Blind Beast vs. the Dwarf.

But during the 60s, the attention all focused on the star, and it was Takakura Ken and his movies that served as the template for yakuza films throughout the 1960s, until Kinji Fukasaku turned the genre upside down in Battles without Honor and Humanity, the film that dared postulate that maybe not all these yakuza guys were noble anti-heroes with swank theme songs; that many of them were, in fact, wretched scumbags and cowards. Curiously, the yakuza seemed as enthusiastic about this portrayal as they’d been by the Takaura Ken films of the previous decade, probably because as weasely and pathetic as most of the characters were, at the end of the day there was still Bunta Sugawara up there on the screen, standing tall and looking cool and letting all the junior yakuza types fancy they were like him rather than like the squealing, flailing goofballs that comprise most of the cast of characters.


Worthless to Confess definitely features more of the latter type of yakuza, though the girls in the movie are considerably more honorable than the gents, but where Kinji Fukasaku’s films are relentless deconstructions of the yakuza myth, Worthless to Confess is more of a “between two worlds” look at yakuza who are undeniably like Fukasaku’s cowardly, backstabbing scumbags but exist in a world that acknowledges the existence of the Takakura Ken yakuza movies that created (or at least helped perpetuate) the myth in the first place — sort of like making a zombie movie set in a world where zombie movies exist. Ken represents the image to which the yakuza strive, while Kenji represents the reality of what they achieve. And somewhere caught in the middle of it all, the women in the movie are more Takakura Ken than the yakuza around them, and like the matinee idol, star Reiko Oshida lives a life that follows the Abashiri Prison pattern of getting out, trying to go straight, getting caught up in turmoil, and ultimately winding up right back in the same place you were at the beginning of the movie.

Oshida (who has very few film credits to her name, unfortunately, but was a member of the cast of Playgirl, a TV show about a cast of swingin’ crime-fightin’ chicks) plays Rika, a small-time delinquent serving a sentence in a women’s reform school where she meets a variety of other inmates, including a woman named Midori (Yumiko Katayama, another Playgirl alumnus), whose boyfriend is a small-time yakuza punk (though like all small-time yakuza punks, he thinks he’s a major player) and whose father, Muraki (yakuza film mainstay Junzaburo Ban, who was also in the Akira Kurosawa film Dodes’ka-den), is a kindly auto mechanic. When Rika gets out, she takes a job in the old man’s garage and discovers that Midori is bleeding her father dry in an attempt to pay off her deadbeat boyfriend’s ever-escalating gambling debts. The local yakuza are keen to see the guy get in so much debt that Midori will pressure her father to sell his garage, and Rika is keen to protect the old man and try to straighten Midori out. Needless to say, in order to do so, she’ll have to reassemble the old gang from reform school.

A lot of the pinky violence films that hit the market during the 1970s weren’t aiming to do much more than cram as much T&A and violence onto the screen as they could get away with. And really, just like there’s nothing wrong with seedy cheerleader sexploitation movies, there’s nothing wrong with Japanese girl gang movies that really don’t want to do more than pack the screen with boobs and bloodshed. However, there were also certain movies that managed to fulfill the basic demands of the genre without indulging in the excesses of their contemporaries and while filling in the sex and violence gaps with better stories and better characters. Delinquent Girl Boss: Worthless to Confess is definitely the Swinging Cheerleaders of the pinky violence trend. It has the T, has the A, and has the violence, but not in the doses that other films (including other films in the Panik House collection) boasted. Instead, it boasts a more complex plot, more sincere melodrama, and more likeable characters. It’s a more ambitious movie, and a better one as a result (keeping in mind that greater ambition doesn’t always equate with a greater movie — right, Chronicles of Riddick?).

For starters there’s Reiko Oshida. Meiko Kaji and Reiko Ike were the queens of Japanese exploitation cinema during the 1970s (populating a lofty dais alongside Pam Grier from the United States and Chen Ping in Hong Kong), but you’d be hard-pressed to find a cuter, more personable, and more charismatic leading lady than Reiko Oshida. Meiko Kaji looked dangerous, mysterious, and alluring. Reiko looks like the cute girl next door who just took a few wrong turns here and there, but is basically sweet and likeable even if her wrong turns means she also affects a take-no-crap toughness. The character Rika is instantly likeable and, unlike many of the anti-heroines in these films, never really does much that make her the least bit unlikeable. She gets out of prison, smiles, and helps people out. It’s a shame Oshida didn’t make more movies, girl gang or otherwise, because she emanates an immediate and undeniable warmth. Plus, she’s just as engaging once she’s “pushed over the edge” and breaks out the red overcoat and katana for the film’s outrageous finale as she is as the sweet girl who just wants to build a decent life for herself.

The film perpetuates this impression by steadfastly refusing to make Reiko Oshida drop her drawers — something practically unheard of for the lead in a pinky violence girl gang movie. But the director (who was also the scriptwriter) was adamant that her lack of nudity was essential to the overall success of the story, and he fought tooth and nail to keep his vision intact. What nudity there is in the film is handled by co-stars Yumiko Katayama (who plays Midori) and Yukie Kagawa (who plays Rika’s pal Mari). While Rika’s lack of nudity is used as one more way to make her seem different and more innocent than the rest of the cast, it should be noted that none of the girls who lead sexy and promiscuous lifestyles are looked down upon because of their choices. Mari ends up working in a scummy nude modeling club, but the scumminess is seen as entirely belonging to the assholes who go there and treat her poorly. For the most part, sexual liberation and freedom is treated as being OK.

Oshida is buoyed by a spectacular supporting cast. Yukmiko Katayama, who also didn’t have much of a career in film before or after this movie (she appeared in one other pinky violence film, Criminal Woman: Killing Medley, which also appears in the Panik House collection), is wonderful as Midori, the most complicated of all the women. She’s the more classical pinky violence anti-heroine in that she does a lot of questionable things before finally being redeemed in time for the big showdown. Her boyfriend and the yakuza are suitably slimy, and you spend most of the movie in eager anticipation of the comeuppance you know is going to be delivered unto them.

The rest of the cast performs with solid skill. Pinky violence regular Tsunehiko Watase plays a truck driver who falls for Rika and gets to be the only really decent or dependable guy in the whole movie. Mari’s husband is a sickly yakuza who also happens to be the truck driver’s brother. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s a load on his brother and wife, and although he dreams of taking Mari away and starting a clean life, he also can’t divorce himself from the delusions associated with being a yakuza. He just has to prove himself, just one time, then he can go. Unfortunately, he ends up being told to prove himself by killing Midori’s father (unaware, however, that he is her father). There’s also a Lou Costello-type assistant mechanic who is there for comic relief that is neither especially funny nor especially painful — which is about the best you can hope for when it comes to comic relief. And finally, Nobuo Kaneko hams it up royally as the fey yakuza Boss Ohyu. Nobuo is probably best known for playing the even more cowardly and spineless Boss Yomimori in Kinji Fukasaku’s Battles without Honor and Humanity series. He also shows up in some Seijun Suzuki films.


Anchored by a quality cast and a sparkling leading lady, screenwriter/director Kazuhiko Yamaguchi is able to delve into deeper territory than is visited by the average pinky violence film — in much the same way as Stray Cat Rock: Sex Hunter. Themes of “female empowerment” and liberation are often grafted onto these films as an easy way to deflect some of the criticism and charges of misogyny that dog such exploitation fare. Usually, these feminist messages are disingenuous and no more meaningful or sincere than when a male scriptwriter uses a female penname to write a porno film, so that the producer can go, “How can it be degrading to women? It was written by a woman?” Now, you know me, and you can probably guess that the honesty of intention in a feminist message isn’t exactly something that plays a big factor in helping me decide whether or not I like a movie. However, it is nice to come across the occasional movie that does indeed manage to be both exploitive and pro-woman. The women in Worthless to Confess are all basically good people. They’re treated with respect from beginning to end, and the movie doesn’t indulge in any of the leering rape nudity that show sup in so many other pinky violence movies. Rika and Midori both find themselves on the receiving end of some yakuza torture and sneering, but it is relatively restrained by pinky violence standards, and cut short before anything really nasty happens.

There is also no weird sex in the movie. One character is alluded to as being a lesbian, but for the most part the characters who do have sex, have pretty normal sex — which is distinctly abnormal in a pinky violence film. Worthless to Confess is also unique in its portrayal of the family. In most pinky violence films, families are ridiculously dysfunctional; full of shrieking psychotic mothers, incestuous fathers, or parents who simply don’t give a damn about anything. Worthless to Confess gives us a kindly and respectable father figure, though, and Rika and her gang really don’t want much more out of life than to find a place they can call home and a group of people to whome they can refer to as family. For once, the family and father figure is OK rather than all twisted and weird.

At the same time, most of the men besides Midori’s dad and the truck driver are scheming, backstabbing scumbags. The only men who can be trusted are the hard-working, regular Joes — the truck drivers and the auto mechanics of the world (though Midori’s dad has a great twist in his story that reveals him to be a little more than just a simple, hard-working auto mechanic). Most can’t be trusted or, at the very least, can’t be depended upon. If they aren’t slimeball yakuza tripping over pachinko machines and getting their asses handed to them in fights by Rika, then the men are asexual girlie men. Gang girl Choko, for instance, is married to a nice but ineffectual goofball who cowers behind her at the club when yakuza start throwing their weight around. He spends much of the film in an apron and head scarf, making food and drinks for Choko and her pals.

There’s really not much action in this movie, but you don’t even notice since the characters are so engaging. The first fight scene doesn’t come until the forty-five minute mark, which is very different from, say, Girl Boss Guerilla, which can’t go more than five minutes without some chick pulling off her shirt and starting a knife fight. Variety is nice, of course, so while I certainly appreciate a movie like Girl Boss Guerilla, I can also appreciate the more reserved approach of Worthless to Confess. Of course that reserve goes out the window the second Rika and her girls throw on hot pants and go-go boots, break out their swords, and slice their way through a pop art club full of whimpering, worthless yakuza assholes. If Worthless to Confess lacks the nonstop insanity of many of the zanier entries in the world of pinky violence, it makes up for it with a finale that is off-the-charts awesome, doubly so since the movie has spent the last eighty minutes or so making you actually care about what happens to these women. The sight of Reiko Oshida and her crew walking down the street in formation wearing blood red trenchcoats, which they throw off to reveal their battle outfits and katanas as they explain their intention to slaughter every goddamn yakuza in the club, is an absolutely fantastic procession of images.

Yamaguchi’s handling of bad-ass female characters manifested itself elsewhere in his career as well. He directed Etsuko Shiomi’s Sister Street Fighter trilogy, which is all about a tough gal sticking it to The Man. He also directed a few Sonny Chiba karate films and something called Wolfman vs. the Supernatural, which I feel like I really need to see. It’s obvious that Yamaguchi favored action and plot over sex and titillation, and while I have no problem with any mix of those three elements, his focus on developing characters and telling a more complete and complicated story means that, while Worthless to Confess is not the most outrageous or the most typical pinky violence film, it is one of the very best and most enjoyable.