Years ago, Hong Kong made a Tekken movie, but they forgot to secure the rights to actually make a Tekken movie, so it eventually became Avenging Fist, and no one really cared. About the only thing anyone remembers is that Ekin Cheng eventually turns into Sammo Hung. So anyway, fast forward to today, and now someone who bothered to secure the rights to the Tekken name, years after I think the world stopped giving a crap about Tekken, has finally made a Tekken movie called Tekken.
The final days of the 20th century ushered in many things, and ushered out quite a few as well. After years of dedicated service, the beefed-up action stars of the 80s and 90s were quietly shown the door. This was a horrible turn of events for Olivier Gruner, a man who had made a living throughout the 90s as the direct-to-video version of Jean-Claude Van Damme. Now that Jean-Claude Van Damme was the direct-to-video version of Jean-Claude Van Damme, what was poor Olivier Gruner to do? As for Van Damme, his DTV output would eventually lead the former muscles from Brussels to make JCVD, a self-deprecating (and to a degree, self-flagellating) arthouse hit that afforded Van Damme the chance to skewer and wax poetic about his crumbling career while at the same time actually rebuilding it to some degree. With the exception of Expendables 2, Van Damme wasn’t going to find his way back onto the big screen, but the quality of his direct to video output enjoyed a substantial leap forward in terms of quality.
“I think we can put our differences behind us… for science… you monster.”
Portal 2 is a game that gleefully flies against all the wrong-headed assumptions about games — both from within the gaming community and from its many critics in the world of politics and moral watchdogging. It is a bloodless, essentially non-violent video game with a female protagonist. And it was a massive hit with an appeal that made it popular with both committed and casual gamers alike. It’s a game that dismisses the notion that games have to cater to the baser human desires for blood and guts, and that games have to be designed for what the industry erroneously defines as its audience: white, heterosexual guys who actively dislike — or are at least extremely uncomfortable with — women, and by extension, female characters in games. The massive success of Portal 2 proves these time-honored conclusions are, if not totally incorrect and blind to a massive and largely unacknowledged diversity, at least increasingly creaky, old-fashioned, and out of touch with the industry’s shift into a mainstream form of entertainment. And hell, even if they were correct, those are not assumptions that should be played to anyway.
I cannot count “point of view” films among the styles of film making for which I possess much tolerance. Aside from rarely being the least bit convincing as “found footage,” relying as they do on the conceit that assorted people would continue to film an incident long after the extreme danger factor would move just about any human in the world to put down the camera and run, there’s just not too much about them that I find appealing. They’re too jittery, too shallow, too… well, obnoxious. The POV films I’ve seen to date have either proved to have remarkable little staying power (The Blair Witch Project, ground zero for this trend, was fun the first time when I knew nothing about it but becomes less impressive after that) or were simply unwatchable from the get-go (Diary of the Dead). Maybe if they spent less time on characters bickering and screaming “What is that???” while flailing a camera around, I would warm to them.
I’ve got a weird fascination with superhero movies from places other than the USA. Since X-Men (2000) and particularly Spider-Man (2002) demonstrated the possibilities of adapting comic books with a previously unthinkable level of faithfulness to the source material, superheroes have become a staple of Hollywood’s output. And with cash tills ringing in spades for all manner of four-colour-inspired heroics (as I write, The Avengers is already the third-highest grossing film of all time and still in theatres), it’s no surprise that overseas producers began to wonder at the possibilities. Some looked to their local comic properties for inspiration, such as with Hong Kong’s ‘a bit like Batman but played by Michelle Yeoh’ effort Silver Hawk. Elsewhere, filmmakers just borrowed wholesale from American films, as with Russia’s ‘Spider-Man with a flying car’ Black Lightning, or Thailand’s ‘Spider-Man… actually just Spider-Man’ cash-in Mercury Man. And of course Bollywood, boasting the biggest film industry in the world, was hardly going to miss out.
I was uhm-ing and ahh-ing about reviewing this one given it’s a film with a rather high level of tween-girl appeal, and I didn’t want to tarnish my stout-yet-manly Franco Nero-in-Enter the Ninja image. But then Keith admitted to watching Red Riding Hood and I figured why not? Teleport City is after all built on inclusivity, which is the next best thing to build something on after rock and roll. So for the site’s no doubt large but silent tween girl fanbase, and anyone else who was just browsing and saw the picture of a cute girl walking away from an explosion, here it is; I Am Number Four.
It was assumed when the Twilight novels and movies took over the universe, that we would be inundated with similar works of weepy, melodramatic teen supernatural romance. While that may have been the case in literature — assisted no doubt by the fact that self-publishing for e-book readers means anyone with enough determination to finish a book could get it published and sold on Amazon — the same thing didn’t really happen in film. There was a similar unfulfilled expectation when Harry Potter was the king of the hill, and we all assumed there’d be a billion little boy wizard movies. Despite it’s astounding popularity, only a few cinematic cash-ins ever saw the light of day, and they weren’t all that successful (I don’t think many people are demanding the next installment of the Percy Jackson series). I guess now you can throw Hunger Games into the mix as well. Young adult supernatural fantasy may rule the pop literary world these days, but it didn’t really succeed in setting aflame the big screen, or even the small screen. You’d think that, if nothing else, the direct-to-DVD or direct-to-Netflix-streaming world would be stuffed to the gills with dodgy young adult vampire romances and such, but that’s not the case. And yes, I’ve looked. All I found was a bunch of cheap, shot on digital video Fast and Furious rip-offs, which naturally, I immediately added to me queue.
Sector 7 is the very worst kind of movie with which to be confronted. OK, maybe not. Maybe What Happens in Vegas is the very worst kind of movie with which to be confronted, but since that’s not the sort of movie I seek out, and Sector 7 is, then the wounds I suffer at the hands of Sector 7 leaves a much deeper scar than any injuries I may have suffered while confined to a seat in a bus where they were playing What Happens in Vegas. Sector 7 is the person who should be your friend, but when you are dangling over the precipice and it is holding on to you, it suddenly flashes an evil grin and lets go, allowing you to fall to your death puzzled by this betrayal. Also, you are falling into lava. Sector 7, you were a flashy, big budget monster movie set on an oil rig and fronted by a wickedly cute actress with decent biceps. How could you do this too me? How could you be so very bad on pretty much every single level?
When Teleport City reviewed the French science fiction animated feature Gandahar, we delved into the history of French sci-fi in animated and comic form, including the birth of Metal Hurlant, the comic magazine that, when it was licensed for publication in America, became Heavy Metal. Tackling Luc “The Destroyer of French Cinema” Besson’s whimsical fantasy-adventure The Extraordinary Adventures of Adele Blanc-Sec allows us to continue our meandering history lesson on French comics and comics magazines. Adele Blanc-sec is an adaptation of a comic strip of the same name, which appeared in Pilote — coincidentally, the magazine that served as an incubator for the writers and artists (including Jean Giraud, aka Moebius, and Enki Bilal) who would leave it in the 1970s to launch Metal Hurlant. Pilote was founded by two writers, Rene Goscinny and Jean-Michel Charlier, and two artist, Albert Uderzo and Jean Hebrard. The four of them worked previously on comics supplements to newspapers as well as providing strips for magazines. Goscinny and Uderzo’s Asterix le Gaulois, a humorous strip about a village of Dark Ages Gauls was Pilote’s biggest hit in the early days and served as the foundation on which the magazine was built. The magazine boasted a number of other popular series, too, such as Blueberry, Barbe-Rouge, and Valerian et Laureline.
At the time of this writing, we’re at a point where a good deal of film fans are suffering from an affliction that has become known as “zombie fatigue.” Thanks in no small part to video games, zombies began to shamble their way out of the niche horror market and into the mainstream. And then, just like the movies always told us would happen, the zombie outbreak spread swiftly and without mercy, consuming the entire country in a year or so. Zombies were everywhere, and one of the most obvious results of this sudden explosion of pop culture adoration for the walking dead was a glut of terrible, boring, no-budget zombie films. Sure, there were a few good ones scattered throughout the wasteland — Undead, Hide and Creep, even the Day of the Dead remake wasn’t nightmarishly terrible — but for the most part, it was an onslaught of shoddy shot-on-DV stinkers. Worse still, George Romero himself was responsible for many of the stinkers. Land of the Dead was underwhelming, Diary of the Dead was unwatchably rotten, and Survival of the Dead was…well, it wasn’t as bad as Diary of the Dead.