We All Have a Bad Side

Readers, I have a very important question to ask, and I expect honest, relationship-killing answers:

Did you know about Doppelganger?

If you responded "no,", then have I got a treat for you!

If you said "yes, yes Emily, I've always known about this 1993 mashup of dissociative identity order tropes, mannequins in face/off masks reveals, gooey unexplained demon exoskeleton attacks, and nuns running phone sex businesses, but I guess I forgot to tell you", then you are dead to me.

Unless you added "oh! I didn't tell you because there's a dead cat." Then I'd say, well golly, you truly do understand.

Quick Plot: Holly Gooding is a poor little rich girl with a 5'4 problem: her titular doppelganger is making life VERY difficult.

After maybe stabbing her mother to death in the wealthy family's New York City penthouse, Holly flees to LA to sort out her trust fund and visit her institutionalized brother (who just might have murdered their missing father). Despite being, you know, NYC penthouse/trust fund wealthy, Holly decides to rent a spare room from struggling screenwriter Patrick Highsmith and his ill-fated cat Nathan.

Patrick is your typical nerdy earnest good guy writer type hero, meaning he's blander than the grape jelly toast he dresses up with mustard. Thankfully, he has a far sassier writing partner named Elizabeth who lends some fast-talking pop when needed.

As you can expect from any movie about a heterosexual man and woman suddenly living in close quarters, Patrick and Holly become intimate...or do they? After a wild night of dirty kitchen floor sex, Holly is apalled by Patrick's memory of the act and is forced to explain that her double sometimes slips into her life.

As Elizabeth cannily points out, men will put up with a lot of insanity if the sex is good. Maybe it's that Drew Barrymore's doe-eyed innocence is naturally irresistible, but Patrick accepts A LOT: her wild mood swings, a fast-talking FBI agent hiding out in a laser-lit empty apartment next door, and Holly's arrest for the murder of her brother.

I know I've gone into what seems like a lot of detail about the plot of Doppelganger, but it's necessary to explain just how insane this story becomes. Things start getting weird when Sally Kellerman (who I have to assume owed writer/director Avi Nesher a large, "I know where the bodies are buried" favor) shows up in a cameo as, I kid you not, a former nun now running a phone sex operation but still the preeminent LA expert on the subject of doppelgangers. For whatever reason, she keeps a Raggedy Anne doll on her work desk.

What. Is. Happening.

I'm going to spoil the ending(s) of Doppelganger, because I'm terrified I haven't sold it hard enough for anyone to sit through a few commercials on Tubi and stream it free of charge, and that would be a true shame. It's not every day that you stumble on a '90s thriller that whiplashes from soap operatic multiple personality disorder saga to latex face/off disguise reveal and ends with Drew Barrymore being ripped into two gooey monster halves that resemble what the spinal structures of the creatures from Mac & Me would look like in that famous Bodies touring display.

Didja get all that?

Doppelganger's poster looks like it's selling a sleazy pre-Lifetime-but-totally-Lifetime sexy thriller. The fact that Greg Nicotero and Robert Kurtzman's names show up in the opening credits should alert you that some practical FX are going to ooze onscreen, but when you're 80 minutes into a 90 minute non-supernatural film, IT'S A LITTLE BIT SHOCKING. Especially when you're still trying to come to terms with the fact that a half dozen characters (including The People Under the Stairs' Sean Whalen) have actually been Dennis Christopher's abusive psychiatrist in face puddy. THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS.

Avi Nesher showed up once before here: for the Cryptkeeper-less Tales From the Crypt movie Ritual, another film that had a lot of ambition in its style. Like Ritual, Doppelganger doesn't fully work as a film, nor does its gender politics age well in any way. There's a lot to squirm about in how the barely 18-year-old Barrymore is ogled by both the camera and every man she encounters, particularly her very own psychiatrist. The film considers him a monster because he dresses up in latex faces and murders at will, but you never get the sense that his lust is actually on trial.

Still, it's pretty hard to discover such bonkers and not walk away elated by its grand strokes.

Why has this movie been forgotten?

High Points
I'm a sucker for a grand, ridiculous reveal, and it doesn't get much wackier than a mannequin club...followed up by...

...whatever the hell this is supposed to be

Low Points
Seriously. This poor teenager has been sexually abused and exploited by her therapist, but it seems to only be considered a crime because he also went on a very bloody killing spree. Eff you, the '90s

Lessons Learned
The best prosthetics can do wonders with altering your facial structure, height, and voice

Common writers' afflictions include weak eyesight and being bad with names

The key to identifying which Drew Barrymore is nice and which Drew Barrymore is here evil doppelganger/rapist-murderer psychiatrist can best be identified by measuring the darkness of her lipstick

Your Moment of Zen
I was a teenager in the '90s, which meant I attended my share of awkward school dances where I, like so many of my peers, attempted to move my body to mediocre music in a way that made me look attractive. It's incredibly refreshing to watch actual hot people do the same and realize, in a true moment of enlightenment, that yes, I did indeed look stupid, but so does Poison Ivy-era Drew Barrymore because you know what? THERE'S NO WAY TO DANCE SEXY TO '90s PARTY MUSIC

The Winning Line
"You don't own me. You're not my father!"
Um?

Look! It's -
A fresh-faced (well, as fresh a face as I've ever seen) Danny Trejo as the sexually harassing construction worker whose catcalls are ickily subtitled "foreign language" as if no one in California has ever heard of this thing called "Spanish"

Rent/Bury/Buy
In case you couldn't tell, I realllllllllly enjoyed Doppelganger. It's terrible, dated, offensive, and possibly not that good a movie, but it's also WILD. You can survive a few ads for stock apps on Tubi. Give it a go.

When Death Race Meets Bartertown

So there's the Roger Corman-produced Death Race, which somehow took 33 years to be remade into a bland Paul W.S. Anderson/Jason Statham muted action vehicle, which then got a sequel/prequel that nobody saw, followed by another sequel/prequel that I didn't know happened, then a more direct sequel/reboot of the original film made with full zany Trumpian overtones in 2017, and then, because life is sometimes very confusing, a direct (maybe?) sequel to the 2008 movie.

I know I complain an awful lot about the confusingly sequenced Fast & the Furious franchise, but the Death Race series makes those look perfectly linear.

Quick Plot: In the near future sometime after Death Race 2008 but before Death Race 2050, unemployment and crime rates are at an all-time high. America meets the call by privatizing prisons to the extreme. The largest maximum security facility has been dubbed "The Sprawl" and is set up more Escape From New York than No Escape. New prisoners, both male and female, are dropped into the hot zone to serve out the rest of their lives in a Mad Max-ish hellscape ruled by the masked Death Race champion, Frankenstein.

Having missed the middle two installments of Anderson's series, I have no idea if this Frankenstein is a holdover from the rest of the series, or exactly what Danny Trejo's casino captain has to do with any of it. What I do know is that Frankenstein is voiced by the actor who plays Spencer Hastings' dad on Pretty Little Liars, and that's important.

Frankenstein, however, is not the hero (and honestly, might not actually be the villain, though I'm still unsure) of Death Race: Beyond Anarchy. That title falls to Connor Gibson (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Zach McGowan), a mysterious convict who glistens without a shirt and asserts his position in the next round of Death Race by plowing through a gaggle of other eager contestants. 

With the help of Danny Glover (yes, seriously) and a fun but completely undeveloped female navigator named Brexie, Connor takes on Frankenstein for control of The Sprawl. Meanwhile, in the free world, Danny Trejo organizes some gambling brackets while a senator and warden hedge their own bets on Connor while watching a Death Race stream via the Dark Web.

There's a fair amount going on in Death Race: Beyond Anarchy, which is perhaps why this Death Race movie runs nearly two hours. Directed by Don Michael Paul (he of such notable genre sequels as Lake Placid: The Final Chapter and Tremors 5: Bloodlines), it's far more fun than the 2008 version, but comes nowhere near the insane satirical pleasures of the Malcolm McDowell camping it up for the cheap seats. 

Points for Paul’s ambition, which spans a batch of creative action sequences well before we even get to the slightly anticlimactic titular vehicular obstacle course. If anything, the breadth of wacky characters feels like a lost opportunity. From Cassie Clare’s Aunty Entity-is Brexie to the badass bus driver Matilda the Hun, Death Race: Beyond Anarchy is populated with some disappointingly untapped potential. 

That being said, I’d be welcoming of another entry, more so if it found more time for its quirkier sensibilities. 

High Points

For a movie about a coed prison filled with the worst of the worst, I suppose I should be thankful that Death Race: Beyond Anarchy avoids any real dalliance with sexual assault

Low Points

And yet, for a movie about a coed prison filled with the worst of both sexes, it's pretty unfair that every frame is from the heterosexual male gaze

Lessons Learned

In the future, global warming will make weather so confusing that you'll need a winter hat and an open chest hoodie

Dystopian prisons lack many amenities, but heavy black eye makeup is not one of them

You can never really know which skills will keep you alive in future prison, but if Death Race is telling the truth, the following will prove valuable: music, fire throwing, bartending, unicycling, and decapitating

Rent/Bury/Buy

For an extremely violent future-set action flick, Death Race: Beyond Anarchy has enough decapitated heads-as-props to keep you entertained, though the 110+ minute running time could have been easily shaved for better pacing. I'd still go with the original, or G.J. Echternkamp’s 2017 version to scratch that campier fun itch, but this is at least more enjoyable than the 2008 film. 

Sexy Cop Sexy Time

Ladies, if you ever wanted to know what Dave from Killer Klowns From Outer Space's penis looked like underwater, have I got a film he co-wrote for you.

Quick Plot: Detective Melanie Hudson (the gorgeous Joan Severance) is trying to reconcile her inner darkness with her job hunting down a serial killer. Melanie's nighttime activities generally revolve around her driving her car, sexily glancing at the rearview mirror, and huskily narrating her inner conflicts in a style that somehow reminds me of Christian Bale’s Batman.

According to all the men she works with, Melanie just doesn't know herself very well.

Gents, allow me to give you some absolutely free advice when it comes to women: do not ever believe, and certainly do not ever state, that you know a dame better than she knows herself. Trust me: you don't. And if by some chance you do (which you actually don’t), she still doesn't want to hear it.

Nevertheless, it's a phrase repeated constantly to Melanie, who brushes off the advances of her partner and shifts her steely sapphire eyes to the prime suspect in her murder investigation. His name is Connor Ashcroft, and he’s the handsome and promiscuous son of a U.S. Senator. Connor had previously dated several of the slain women, but Melanie believes the real killer may be his thwarted welding artist ex, played by Total Recall’s Rachel Ticotin.

Once Connor is cleared, Melanie gives in to his advances and engages in some Showgirls-ish pool sex and elevator groping (the latter witness by extra Danny Trejo). Melanie’s fellow detectives are none too pleased, one going so far as to threaten Connor with, I kid you not, “You’ve got the lifespan of sperm.” Points to our boys in blue!

Let’s talk about the policemen in Criminal Passion. They are a delight. At least from a fashion point of view.

IMDB tells us that this film was released in 1994. I don’t quite know that I believe that, since Melanie rocks Annie Hall menswear and the men sport mullets and a tie collection manufactured from leftover patterns of ‘80s era suburban furniture. It’s a glorious thing to behold, especially when said policemen speak with cop accents so thick that subtitles become a necessity. Trust me, you need to hear the drunken spurned detective tease the wealthy Connor about his fancy glass vases before smashing them with glee if you ever hope to experience true joy.

Criminal Passion was directed by Donna Deitch, a woman who seems to work primarily in television (including no less than three episodes of Law & Order: SVU). The female perspective is an interesting one on a film like this, which has a surprisingly modern sex-positive heroin in Melanie. While most of the men constantly judge her activities, Melanie is content to live how she wants...until, well, the plot sort of tells her she shouldn’t.

Ultimately, I wouldn’t quite go so far as to call Criminal Passion a sex-positive, go girl power flick, but Melanie is a fully formed women and the film isn’t afraid to let her live how she wants (to a point). More importantly, unlike some of my other recent ‘90s forays, Criminal Passion is a movie that understands how to revel in its sleaziness. That my friends, is a thing of beauty.

High Points

She’s not going to win an Oscar anytime soon, but Joan Severance is incredibly watchable as Melanie. Aside from being a beautiful woman, she manages to project that sort of smokey sexiness that keeps the whole tone of the film in line

Low Points

The mystery itself of who’s killing these women is never really as pressing as one would think it should be

Lessons Learned

Men will believe anything if you say it with a smile

Always keep the first chamber empty

“Hey Cheekbones, wanna party?” is not a recommended pickup line, even if your target is the very high cheekboned Joan Severance

Rent/Bury/Buy

Criminal Passion is suitably sleazy for those in the mood for the kind of film that makes heavy use of saxophone solos or electronic smooth jazz. It’s your typical Skinemax fare with a little elevation from Severance’s performance. Cue it up on the old Amazon Prime when you feel the need for nudity and bad ties.

Another Buggish Swap, This Time With 2x More Jan Brady

"Dying is easy. Comedy is hard."--Someone

"Writing about bad movies is easy. Writing about comedies is hard."--Me

The only people that challenge us more than our enemies are generally our dearest friends, and that's probably why the one and only T.L. Bugg used this month's movie swap to assign me Poolboy: Drowning Out the Fury. It's not that it's not my KIND of film--a meta movie-within-a-movie lampooning made-for-cheap '80s action romps? Sign me up!--but more the fact that I find reviewing comedies to be incredibly difficult. Sure, if we're talking about unintentional comedies--Twilight, Cool As Ice, and the like--then the words seep through my MacBook like a blue liquid in the offbrand maxipad on a commercial for Kotex. But straight-out humor is hard to discuss. Over at The Lightning Bug's Lair, I've repaid my debt by sending the Bugg to Instant Watch for the 1993 ...And God Spoke, an underrated mockumentary with juicy cameos from Soupy Sales, Andy Dick, Lou Ferigno and more. To find out if he had as hard a time writing and as good a time watching, head on yonder.

But enough stalling. Let's get wet.

Quick Plot: Poolboy: Drowning Out the Fury is essentially presented as the special edition watching experience of Poolboy 2. Are you confused yet?

Our director, writer, producer, dubber, and occasional actor Saint James St. James (ACTUAL writer Ross Patterson,  a game performer with an eerie vocal resemblance to Will Arnett's GOB Bluth) serves as our narrator of sorts, announcing we’re about to watch the long out-of-print film he made as an entitled one-eyed 10-year-old in 1990. Throughout the main narrative of Poolboy 2, St. James interrupts to give us some behind-the-scenes tidbits, such as why one character in a group shot was shot on green screen (because he was in prison), why flubs weren’t edited out (because a non-actor pulling a gun on your crew sells tickets), and why there’s not much nudity (St. James didn’t understand that “more nudity” didn’t mean “more penises” to the studio).

As you can probably guess, Poolboy: Drowning Out the Fury is not a traditional film. It’s a fictional making-of detailing a fictional Rambo knockoff about a Vietnam vet (Kevin Sorbo as John Van Hammer playing Sal Bando—got that?) who promised his fallen soldier friend that they would open a pool cleaning business together, only to return to California to discover all such companies are now owned by—gasp!—Mexicans. In a sort of reversal of Machete, Bando becomes a crusader for white American rights, eliminating anyone who steps in his way with EXTREME prejudice.

Sure, the Mexicans in town aren’t innocent, having murdered his cheating wife and sorta son (or at least, drowned dummies that vaguely resembled them). Under the control of—whaddya know! --Machete and more importantly, 7 Mummies’ Danny Trejo, Bando’s town becomes a hotbead of violence as he skims some pools, goes to parties hosted by Children of the Corn’s grown-up Malachai, and has sex with inflatable dolls/neighborhood blonds. One of whom is played by…

JAN BRADY CONNECTION!!!

I’m not embarrassed to say I saw 1995’s The Brady Bunch Movie three times in the theaters. I found and still find it to be insanely enjoyable, as is its slightly lesser followup, A Very Brady Sequel. One of its secret weapons was Jennifer Elise Cox’s charmingly mad performance as Jan and thusly did it bring a Marcia Marcia Marcia bright smile to my face to see Ms. Cox show up as one of Bando’s most loyal clients.

But guess what? It gets better!

You see, the gods of movie recommendations looked upon we two bloggers, one from the northern Bronx hood and the other strumming a banjo made from dead pool cleaners' skin on his South Carolinian porch (that's how I imagine he spends weekends not spent at HorrorHound) and bestowed upon us a gift: TWO JAN BRADYS! As Cox costars in Poolboy, so does the original Jan Eve Plumb playing Noah’s wife (actually, playing Eve Plumb PLAYING Noah’s wife) in …And God Spoke.

So that's exciting. At least if you're me.

But back to Poolboy! Or the making of Poolboy 2! I'm still confused!

Poolboy: Drowning Out the Fury (the real one on Instant Watch) is a fun, deliberately goofy homage of sorts to the kinds of filmed-in-the-Philippines action romps you now find rusting in the gray market. If you don't have much love for that sub sub sub genre, I don't imagine you'll find Poolboy overly amusing, although much of its randomness might work for the kinds of comedy fans who dug Wet Hot American Summer before it was cool to do so (or maybe I just like to use that comparison because I'm one of the few truly cool people who did and I like to brag about it).

I found Poolboy an odd viewing experience because initially, it seemed positively genius. As the film went on, the hit vs. miss percentage of the jokes became a little more evenhanded. For a lot of them, the idea of the joke was amusing--terribly dubbed actors, for example--though the final execution felt a tad off. I won't say it was director Garrett Brawith's fault necessarily, especially since he demonstrates a wonderful strength with getting his actors (be they Jason Mewes or Courtney Gains) to nail the tone to near perfection. Maybe the new filmmaking team just need a little more time in honing style, but it's a minor criticism for something that proudly declares itself wacky and follows up on it in every scene.

High Points

One of the biggest faults of so many spoofs is that they cave in to tradition and try to force actual heart or development on their not-supposed-to-be-real characters. Poolboy thankfully avoids such a trap and instead, everybody and thing onscreen exists solely for our laughs. Sure, not all of them work, but I admire the filmmakers' spirits in going all out

Kevin Sorbo has a fairly thankless role here in playing a mediocre action star that deliberately lacks the charisma or talent of his more famous peers. When you think about how he downplays it, his performance here is actually incredibly generous, letting both Sal AND John come across exactly as they should

Low Points

As explained above—including my own inability to write well about comedy—there are simply some jokes that, well, don’t quite work

Lessons Learned

Nobody hates Menudo. Everybody in the world loves Menudo!

The present participle of ‘rap’ has two p’s

Answering the phone a thrust before orgasming will have serious effects on a man

Rent/Bury/Buy

Comedies are perhaps the hardest types of films to recommend or warn against because even if I KNOW you, it doesn't NECESSARILY mean I'll know what makes you laugh on any given day. Poolboy made me laugh, then made me not, then made me laugh again. I think some film audiences--particularly those with a soft spot for third world country '80s action cinema--will appreciate a lot of the jokes in Poolboy simply from a movie fan point of view, even when plenty of them don't really snap as sharply as we’d like. If nothing else, you can thoroughly ravage IMDB spotting all the cameos, with everyone from Richard "Al" Karn to Ahmed "JarJar" Best popping up in small roles. 

Want more meta comedy about the making of a low budget bad film? Head on over to The Lightning Bug’s Lair for T.L. Bugg’s thoughts on …And God Spoke. It's guaranteed to have equal parts Jan Brady!