Arts and entertainment journalist Jep Gambardella has a problem. Standing in the middle of the swanky pageantry of Roman nightlife at the age of 65, he feels more than a bit foolish and, as a result, lost. When first we meet him, it is amid the thumping techno and drunken revelry of a lavish rooftop party that seems initially that it should be the purview of 20-somethings cutting loose in Ibiza. But through it all strides Jep, resplendent in his stylish suit but feeling increasingly out-of-place amid such bacchanal, even though he is still welcome and desirable as a guest. It is not the nightlife that regards Jep as too old to partake in its frivolous revelry; it is Jep himself. Nor is it a condescending dismissal of the life; although frivolous, Jep is genuinely affection and thankful for the good times and is hesitant to let go of them. There is value, after all, in something that gives us pleasure, no matter how shallow it might be. It is simply that Jep now feels his time among these revels has passed. And although quick with an inviting smile, a companionly arm around the shoulder, or a heart-felt raising of the glass, he’s beginning to wonder what the hell he’s doing at his age still strutting around to booming electronica at four in the morning.
I’ve been sitting here trying to think of an adequate way to describe exactly what it is that Sonny Chiba does and wears in this second film in Kinji Fukasaku’s highly enjoyable, highly influential Battles without Honor and Humanity series of films that delve into the world of organized crime and the role it played in rebuilding post-war Japan. The closest I can come up with to summarize the acting display by Chiba is to say that you should try to imagine William Shatner and Jimmy Walker being merged into one creature, which the director then instructs to “stop being so subtle.”
Over on The Cultural Gutter, I’m following up last month’s article about the Han Solo Adventures with …In a Galaxy Far, Far Away, a look at 1983’s Lando Calrissian Adventures, a trilogy of pulpy space adventures written by a mad libertarian futurist and full of Lando thinking about fine tailoring, fine women, fine cigars, fine gambling, and in his spare time, rescuing multiple advanced alien races from obliteration while foiling the best laid plans of an evil space sorcerer.
Over on Alcohol Professor, I’m writing about Westland American Single Malt Whiskey. Single in Seattle is both a look at the up and coming Seattle distillery as well as a rumination on the amount of shenanigans, bad whiskey, and lying that makes exploring American craft spirits exhausting when it should be fun. Luckily, Westland is the sort of thing that reminds you to sit back and enjoy from time to time.
People unfamiliar with genre films sometimes have this weird idea that the movies all carry themselves with an air of complete seriousness, that a particular type of film can’t possibly be aware of its own cliches and pitfalls until some smarmy mainstream director steps in and makes a spoof. That spy movies, even James Bond, can’t be aware of their own absurdity. Or that horror has never noticed its own cliches. The fact of the matter is that genre films are far more aware of their own short-comings and trappings than most mainstream films. For better or for worse, genre films — science fiction, horror, sexploitation, action, and so forth – have been self-referential and satirizing themselves since the early days. The Italian sword and sandal films that were so popular during the first half of the 1960s were no exception.
Other than the long wait since the end of season one, there was little in “The Metamorph,” the first episode of Space: 1999’s second season to clue you into just how much had gone wrong with the series, and how much more wrong was waiting on the horizon. Certainly, some things had changed. For starters, there’s a new theme song and someone must have found a box of colorful orange and blue jackets in a closet somewhere, because everyone has started wearing jackets. But you know how fashion trends are, and the sudden appearance of jackets is of no real concern (and I like to think inspired Jean-Luc Picard, who took five seasons of Star Trek: The Next Generation before he found a jacket). Alphans have also started wearing ID badges with their name and photo on them because…in a confined space for years with three-hundred or people or so, I am sure it was awkward for Koenig to still not know “that one guy’s name.” So he issued the command for “Hello My Name Is” tags to save everyone discomfort at parties.
Over on the Gentlemen’s Blog to Midnite Cinema, the companion blog to the podcast Gentlemen’s Guide to Midnite Cinema, I’m training with horses in preparation for the day my father’s supernaturally powerful kungfu demon enemy comes around looking for revenge. Kungfu Zombie stars Billy Chong as an obnoxious martial artist who is endlessly pestered by vengeful corpses.
Over on the Gentlemen’s Blog to Midnite Cinema, I’m bringing the Jess Franco and Soledad Miranda. The Devil Came from Akasava, Jess Franco delivers a dreamy Eurospy by way of Edgar Wallace krimi film full of Soledad Miranda in pop art fashion. All else is, of course, of secondary consideration.
Over on the Cultural Gutter, I’m ringing in Yule, midwinter, and whatever other Pagan festivities we can dig up by writing about a topic I normally avoid. A Long Time Ago… Is the first of a two-part article celebrating the oddball pulpy adventures that served as the basis for the Star Wars Expanded Universe. This round, it’s Han Solo and Chewbacca in three nutty adventures from 1979.
I am back over on the Gentlemen’s Blog to Midnite Cinema, the companion blot for my favorite film podcast, writing about Incredible Paris Incident aka Fantastic Argoman aka half a dozen other titles, as is the way for these kinds of movies. Hovercrafts, psychic powers, robots, and men in banana yellow bodystockings will abound.