Three films seen recently for the first time, so thought I'd transcribe my worthless opinions to the desperately transient medium of the internet for all to ignore. Enjoy.
Pieces (1982)
Dir: Juan Piquer Simón
A gloriously silly slasher written by the quill of crud, Joe D’Amato. Played dead straight by the bewildered cast, its excruciating dialogue (including the infamous trio of "BASTARD!"s) and irrational plot pathways make for an immensely enjoyable watch.
Shot with vigour and admirable enthusiasm, it’s consistently entertaining and, provided you can put up with the casual misogyny and splatter, a strong contender for a film that's genuinely "so bad it’s good”. Christopher George’s cigar-chewing Detective is an oddly-reassuring presence amongst all the absurdity. Recommended to anyone with a sense of humour and a strong stomach.
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| Christopher George: chompy |
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| Axe: choppy |
Mad Max (1979)
Dir: George Miller
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| Max is surprisingly sane throughout. Swiz. |
An utterly disposable but oddly compulsive movie that revels in its own simplistic adolescence. Miller’s visual flair for both location and astonishingly brutal high-speed action scenes are to be admired, far more so than the sparse script and cartoonish performances. Making the audience really work to care about the characters is a failure of the film rather than an artistic endeavour. The cynical introduction and subsequent smashing down of narrative ciphers to provide the protagonist’s motivation is pure comic book revenge fantasy. It would be more hateful if it weren’t so well executed (pun probably intended) although less appealing is the faint whiff of wish-fulfilment fascism the film emanates.
Mel Gibson’s blank-eyed husk of a performance staples some much-needed sanity to the madness of the first two thirds, comparing favourably to the zany dross offered by the rest of the cast. The soundtrack is sub-soap opera schmaltz, as ill-fitting as Max’s leather slacks. Bitching aside, you could paint your eyeballs with far worse colours than the palette on offer here, but be aware that its gloss shines dimly. A weak recommend.
Fatal Games (1984)
Dir: Michael Elliot
A remarkably juvenile stalk n’ slash made for less than the price of a gift in a Dollar Store and with none of the quality and craftsmanship such an item would entail. Based in some kind of Athlete's Academy, Fatal Games involves nubile Olympic hopefuls being speared to grisly demise. It's a plot that, rather fittingly for a “javelin slasher”, you don’t have to suspend your disbelief so much as hurl it into the clouds. With many scenes conducted entirely in one long shot, getting through this film is an arduous task akin to a marathon (except undertaking said event would at least carry the benefit of making you feel good about yourself afterwards).
Even at eighty eight minutes long, it’s badly-paced and loosely edited; the low budget equalled only by the aspirations of its production team. Resultantly, this is a tedious load of old tut. The cheese-coated power rock theme song espousing the virtues of athletic achievement is the best thing in it, and even that’s complete shit.
There's a rubbish pun to be made here about a spear-based horror film being pointless but hell, Fatal Games doesn't even deserve that.
