Mind you, folks: I’m not going to pen a full review of 2024’s The Return.  Despite all appearances, this is solely something I felt a need to sound off on because – yes – it upsets me when I see it.
 
True story: so I had my birthday this past week, and one of my choices was to head to the cineplex to watch Uberto Pasolini’s big screen adaptation of The Odyssey, this one called The Return.  As adapted by Edward Bond and John Collee, the film essentially deals with the last chapter of the Homer epic: Odysseus has finally defied the gods and made it back to the shores of his beloved Ithaca and now must resolve what effects his protracted absence has left on his kingdom.  Suffice it to say that time hasn’t exactly been kind to his family and his people; and the hero finds his castle overrun with suitors who would demand the hand of his lovely Penelope in marriage.  The film literally picks up with our veteran of the Trojan War asleep on beachhead after the approaching ship was destroyed en route.
 
Now, I’m more than casually familiar with this tale, but please keep in mind that I in no way consider myself an expert at all.  I’ve read it twice, and I’ve also enjoyed a rather spectacular graphic novel adaptation of it, too.  Furthermore, I’m rather fond of the 1997 television miniseries – which won two Primetime Emmys, I might add – that starred Armand Assante (a bit of a miscast, if you ask me, but not awful in any respect), Greta Scacchi, and Isabella Rossellini.  And, yes, I’m aware that 1958’s The 7th Voyage Of Sinbad largely steals several elements of the Homeric adventure and recasts them for Sinbad, so I’ve watched that as well.  You see, I was originally turned on to the myth back in the 5th Grade when my history teacher, Mrs. Sauers, did a unit on Greek Mythology; and she entertained up with a wonderful film strip series (ask your grandparents) adapting all of Odysseus’ life.  So … not an expert … just a huge fan.
 
If you must, then consider me a snob about it … hence this ‘Snobservation.’
 
Anyway …
 
Back in my college days, Professor Watanbe both laughed at and took issue with my characterization of Odysseus when – ahem – I answered his question of “What do I know about the man?” with the statement, “He’s the original John Rambo.”  I didn’t offer up this retort in disrespect at all because Rambo – from 1982’s spectacular First Blood – is a veteran who has travelled far, seen many things, and still retains that sense of duty and honor which fuels quite literally ever facet of his core morality.  (This isn’t necessarily true of the sequels: though heroic and committed to military efficiency and goals, Rambo evolves over time with the needs of his mission.  My observation in class was with respect to First Blood as the other flicks hadn’t yet even been made.)  Even at his weakest moment, Rambo doesn’t flinch to do that which he was trained to do; and his PTSD doesn’t emerge until confronted with the ultimate order to stand down.
 
Odysseus – factually – stood down at the end of the Trojan War, but the events that unwind across The Odyssey – not The Return – force him to maintain that adherence to a military code of conduct.  The various encounters he finds himself and his shipmate enduring repeatedly show that his bravery and heroism is firmly ensconced into his DNA; and he rarely if ever takes time out of these pursuits to question why he did what he did (to any thematic degree), leaving the fact that he’s been sequestered away from his homeland by a vengeful Poseidon the undercurrent to the whole affair.  I’ve always seen it that his freedom of choice – both with his angering the god at the close of the war with the blasphemous act of coopting a tribute for military use – put him in mortal peril; and I’ve always believed that one of the lessons we readers learn is that the determined will of man is strong enough to overcome the ostracization of the gods.
 
You see, despite every obstacle placed in front of him, Odysseus remains committed to his family, his kingdom, and his self.  Of course, he’s tested over and over again across this journey; and – to a degree – he even succumbs a bit to the temptation to get on with his life without his wife and son.  However, the core – his love of household and country – also returns over and over again, so much so that it gives him the singular ability to (as I said) defy Poseidon and eventually make it home.  Though he might be broken physically here and there in the process, Odysseus is far from a broken man suffering with PTSD … and that’s what the producers would have you believe with The Return.
 
Here, our Trojan warrior (played by Ralph Fiennes) has been, apparently, exhausted by nothing more than his battles in that far off land.  Aside from the fact that he’s been curiously absent from his home for years, the script completely ignores the tinkering of Poseidon (the whole damn catalyst keeping him from getting home) and suggests that Odysseus was somewhat ashamed of who he’d become as a consequence of being called to war and waging it.  Thus, the entertainment industry would have audiences believe that having a character both standing for something and earning a place in literary history is the oddity of The Odyssey and – ahem – what matters most is the man’s mental health.
 
To make matters a bit worse, the script even somewhat bastardizes the particulars of the seminal contest with which Odysseus reclaims his kingdom in the final moments.
 
For those unaware, the Queen Penelope has been exhausted by fighting off one suitor after another who would seize the palace and all of its riches for their own personal use; and – in a last bit strategy to demonstrate that her missing husband has no equal – she devises a contest wherein she will agree to marry any man who can string Odysseus’ massive bow and shoot an arrow through the eyelet of a dozen axe heads lined up in unison.  Of course, these lesser men insist that this isn’t possible – that it’s all a trick – and yet a beggar eventually rises to the occasion, proving his worth and demonstrating that the king is back, baby, (it’s Odysseus in disguise) so let’s get ready to rumble.
 
If I remember the story correctly, our hero first slays Antinous, the lecher who did the worst deeds whilst he was away.
 
In The Return, the producers, director, and screenwriter chose to convey these events a bit differently.  Here, Odysseus completes the challenge and then just begins randomly shooting down these potential suitors one-by-one, actually leaving Antinous alone to the very end.  Then, Telemachus – the king’s son (played by Charlie Plummer) – steps forward with a sword in hand, intending to finish this schemer off; and Penelope (played by Juliette Binoche) marches in, essentially demanding that the man be spared.  When Telemachus lets his sword fly anyway, she cries out as if the man she loved was just struck down.
 
Sadly, this isn’t the Penelope of the great Homeric myth.
 
Penelope loved her husband even in spite of his decade’s long absence.  She had no fondness for these men who had their sights on her kingdom and saw them as charlatans to the throne, the lesser of her peers who used their influence against her and those who served her family at the castle.  Yet, The Return would have you believe that she eventually developed feelings for the very one who – in the film – tried to have her son murdered; and that’s a bit of blasphemy, if you ask me.  Yes, she eventually reconciles with Odysseus – who gives a speech about the horrors of war, another bit of mockery to who I believe the man was – but the fact remains that The Odyssey’s central point about the will of man gets ‘mansplained’ away with a contemporary warning about war and its aftermath being conveniently substituted in its absence.
 
I’ve often remarked that I’m okay with a bit of Hollywood whitewashing in order to sell a good story.  Films do have to make narrative sense – or they should – and I can appreciate that rewriting or ‘recasting’ some lesser elements might be necessary to make a story work a bit better here and there.  But … how do you justify changing one of the central themes to one of the greatest works in literature to the point wherein its main character doesn’t quite resemble himself any longer?  Odysseus wasn’t off on any vision quest trying to find himself after The Iliad ended; he was banished from his home by the gods.  Ignoring the spine to the body leaves you with a limp noodle; and, yes, that angered me.
 
For those wondering, I still managed to enjoy The Return.  I do so very much love this story, and I do appreciate seeing it brought to life for modern audiences.  But the endless stream of critics falling over themselves to claim this is one of the finest adaptations ever of The Odyssey tells me that none of them are even vaguely familiar with the source material.  That saddens me.  That disappoints me.  But it doesn’t surprise me.
 
Good film?  Sure.
 
Great film?  Here and there.
 
Great adaptation?  Hardly.

-- EZ
​

A huge bone of contention between me and my fellow mates back in the early 1980's remains to this day the second season of Buck Rogers In The 25th Century.

To be blunt, they hated it; and I thought it was perfectly acceptable.

Now, I understand perfectly well why they hated it.  The first season of this fondly remembered show was definitely it a bit campy here and there, but in many ways it had the same pursuit of high adventure for its seminal hero across its many episodes.  Buck was a fish-out-of-water -- a man pulled out of the past and plunked into the future -- and his adversaries couldn't quite get a hold on how to face him much less defeat him.  That was the crux around so much of the action; and for the most part it worked just fine.

​Well, when the second season came along, the general theme of the show had changed significantly.  Rogers, Deering, and the gang were no longer confined to Earth; instead, all of the action and intrigue shifted to deep space, wherein the starship The Searcher was on a quest to find the 'lost tribes of Earth,' folks who'd abandoned our world in the wake of a nuclear holocaust.  A new production team was brought in to craft tales that were considered more adult, maybe even more complex, resembling a little bit of what Gene Roddenberry's Star Trek had done in the late 1960's.  Some attribute this tonal shift to the fact that producers felt that the first season wasn't taken as seriously as were installments of other Science Fiction shows of the day; but having grown up back then I can assure you that there really wasn't all that much to compare it to, and I suspect a great many viewers still prefer Season One other the dark and plodding Season Two.

Still, one of the rather more interesting developments to come out of this bold new vision was the addition of the character Hawk to the line-up.

And, yes, I say this knowing full well that many out there in fandom kinda/sorta lampooned the idea of a half-man, half-bird hybrid played by actor Thom Christopher.  While I'll concede that the idea to outfit the actor with a headdress looking like that off a bad eagle was not that inspired, I'd still contend that it was a mature creation, one who like Trek's Mr. Spock struggled with who and what he was in ways that made for some interesting choices.  And, maybe, giving this new sidekick his own ship that -- ahem -- looked like a big mechanical bird wasn't as impressive a change that insiders thought it was going to be ... yet, again, I loved it.  I just went with it, honestly; and I really, really, really wish they'd done a bit more with Hawk when they had the chance.  That never happened, and the truncated second season pretty much ground to a halt after less than a dozen outings.  Sad but true.

​I bring this up today because I noticed that Mr. Christopher passed, and I wanted to acknowledge his contribution to the world of genre entertainment and my television youth.  Though others might've chuckled as his involvement and appearance on Buck Rogers, I like to think of it as one of SciFi television's greatest missed opportunities.

Our condolescences are extended to the family, friends, and fans of Thom Christopher.

May he rest in peace ...

-- EZ 
​

It’s been said that the holidays are hardest on lonely people.
 
Of course, I’ve no reason to think that’s false.  It’s something that’s been observed for so long that I think it’s generally accepted as truth.  Stores are closed on Christmas Day – well, for the most part, I think that’s still the norm – and families are shut in with one another celebrating the most wonderful time of the year.  It should go without saying that the silly season is meant to be a kinda/sorta communal event for friends and family, one where we gather together as a remembrance of things past while keeping an eye on our collective future.  It’s a time of year when we’re truly supposed to dwell upon the best of things mankind has to offer, and I suspect that’s the case for most of us.
 
Still …
 
Because our shared attentions are focused elsewhere, it could also be the perfect time of year to, say, rob a bank and abscond with a few cool millions, am I right?
 
Think about it.  No one’s really at work.  The places are locked up tight with very little practical oversight.  The police – those christened with serving and protecting – are likely a bit understaffed with their resources stretched paper thin.  If something big and grand in the category of grand larceny were to go down, then it might statistically be more likely to succeed than fail, what with everyone looking over there while the burglars are doing things over here.  Why shouldn’t those with some darker aspirations put some serious thought into such a possibility?
 
From what I’ve read, such has been one of the many artistic pursuits for actor, writer, and producer Simon Phillips.  In 2017, he made the yuletide gay with his project Once Upon A Time At Christmas, essentially a slasher flick wherein the evildoers went about the bloody business dressed as Santa and Mrs. Claus.  In 2019, Phillips revisited the idea with The Nights Before Christmas, another bloody yarn that saw the same diabolical pair playing murderous footsy with the FBI.  Well, it would seem the man is back in the holiday spirit – as it were – as he’s now unleashed another Xmas bloody Xmas under the name of Silent Bite (2024), a Horror/Crime hybrid that bits a group of hardened bank robbers against the sorority of hungry vampiresses.
 
Lacking the necessary mistletoe, these men and women collide in less festive fashions, and audiences just know very few – if any – are likely to make it out alive.
 
Just like the holidays for the rest of us …
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
​

From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A gang of bank robbers take shelter in a motel after a Christmas Eve bank heist, unbeknownst to them they are not the most dangerous thing seeking refuge on this cold Christmas night.”
 
Why, I think it was John McClane – that rogue movie cop – who once staked out such territory as Christmas to do some of his very best work.  In 1988’s Die Hard, he spent time trying to reconcile with his estranged wife while also saving Nakatomi Plaza from some international terrorists intent on seizing untold millions in bearer bonds during the holiday season.  Then again – in 1990 – the detective was back on the job – still working out issues with his wife – this time seeing Washington Dulles International Airport as his gateway toward battling ne’er-do-wells from crashing countless airplanes in a plot to divert authorities from their absconding with a South American drug lord.  If you think it’s only Santa who can get in and out undetected, then you’d better think again!
 
Now, I don’t want that to mislead any of you into thinking that director Taylor Martin’s Silent Bite is anything like Die Hard I and II.  There’s no crusading copper in this dark tale; but the film does loosely take that whole idea of utilizing one unique setting – here some kitschy backwater hotel on the edge of civilization – to explore its characters and their circumstances.  Both sides – good and bad – are holed up at one location; and, together, they’re bound to come into conflict in the simple task of surviving the night.  On that front, Bite is thematically very similar to a great number of motion pictures … and, yet, it lacks a good deal of one seminal word in its title.
 
Simply put, it has little ‘bite.’
 
Father Christmas (played by Simon Phillips), Prancer aka Blake (Luke Avoledo), Grinch (Nick Biskupek), Snowman (Michael Swatton), and Rudolph (Dan Molson) have just pulled off a bank heist, netting a cool few million dollars in exchange for doing the deed.  While Rudolph is off misdirecting the authorities all of his own, the remaining four criminals are shacked up in a motel waiting for sunlight, at which point they’ll be reunited with their driver and head off scott free in another direction, no one the wiser.  But the resulting hiccup in the whole affair is that the quiet resort also happens to be the preferred lodging to a group of female vampires led by the domineering Mother (Sayla de Goede), and they’ve got their sights set on making Christmas dinner out of the lot of wanted men.
 
As the movies would have you believe, you can’t assemble a team of five men without creating a measure of conflict on its own; and this is the foundation around which director Martin and Phillips (who stars and wrote the script) tries to erect this house of cards.  Yes, it’s the kind of thing we’ve likely all seen before – both 1960’s and 2016’s The Magnificent Seven are solid examples of scripts that get great mileage out of conflicting alpha males jockeying for their own respective leg room in the same space – and it even works respectfully here and there.  Father Christmas has been around the block – probably with even a few of these faces before – so he knows he needs to appeal to each of them individually, a sentiment which puts the others at odds with Prancer, a wet-behind-the-ears college grad whose is only doing this to settle his late father’s gambling debt.  Group dynamics being what they are, these four men spend a fair amount of time both criticizing and gladhanding one another, mostly because this is what audiences have been told male camaraderie looks like.  Fair enough.
 
Where Silent Bite’s foundation totally crumbles is on the weaknesses of the fairer sex.  De Goede delivers her lines as if she’s part of some cut rate community theater outlet, chewing scenery only because that’s how it’s been written and not as if she firmly believes any of it.  Selene (Sienna Star) is the young Turk amongst the bloodsucking group always challenging Mother’s established authority, but not even she seems to be on the same page regarding how to hold her own artistically once the chips begin to fall.  Lucia (Louisa Capulet) and Victoria (Kelly Schwartz) both capably manage to look pretty – that’s all the script really leaves for them to do, sadly – but neither are up to the challenge of being much more than ‘bait’ for the potentially lecherous men when they come calling … in the swimming pool, of all places.
​

Lacking a suitable narrative foil, the men rather easily come off as vastly more likable, capable, impressionable, and interesting than do the women.  Adversarial plots like this work only when both sides have equal chops; while the ladies do have their chops by way of vampire fangs, they bring absolutely nothing else to the game of wills, making it an obvious one-sided affair that – because it was scripted this way – must have the forces of Darkness going down with the only obvious ray of light in here – the young and still noble Prancer – emerging reasonably unscathed in the last reel.  Everything transpires likely as an audience will predict, robbing the work of any true tension except for that of these men plucking away against one another before their respective swan songs.
 
As good as the men are, the women needed to be of equal strength.  When that doesn’t happen, the action grinds to a halt, frozen like the cast must’ve been with shooting this one in the snowy outdoors.
 
Silent Bite (2024) was produced by Nox Luna Media Group.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at MVD Media Entertainment.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be very solid: some of the nighttime cinematography is quite good considering the elements, and most of the interior shoots are workably staged.  (There are a few pretty bland shots and some tilted camera stuff that could’ve been better prepared.)  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  Well … get ready to be disappointed.  Outside of a behind-the-scenes slide show, there’s not much else to cheer about … a lump of coal if ever there were.
 
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
 
Perhaps the single greatest downside to Silent Bite (2024) is that it feels all too often like it was inspired by other films who’ve done this kinda/sorta thing before – i.e. Assault On Precinct 13 (1976), Die Hard (1988), Trespass (1992), and even From Dusk Till Dawn (1996) – and it can’t quite deliver anywhere near the same level with a similar premise.  Some of this might be owed to the fact that Phillips – as the screenwriter – opted for it to go the chatty route instead of the action one, hoping that maybe audiences might instead to won over by a handful of crisp verbal exchanges in lieu of the light action.  While that occasionally works fine, it doesn’t flow nearly as well when the onscreen talent exhibits such a lack of chemistry as do these supposed hungry vampire ladies, not one of which who delivers her lines with so much as a hint of interest.  Why, it’s like the undead preferred sounding like they were perpetually undead, and their apparent disinterest kills any forward momentum the men develop.  A bit of a miss, if you ask me.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at MVD Visual Entertainment provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Silent Bite (2024) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A police officer is brought out of suspended animation in prison to pursue an old ultra-violent nemesis who is loose in a non-violent future society.”
 
In spite of obstacles or circumstances, there are those films that – for reasons we probably don’t understand – simply work.
 
Typically, these pictures somehow surpass the sum of their parts, sometimes making the best use of a talent’s screen charisma or rugged machismo.  Even though their scripts might suffer the occasional deficiency or silliness, the fact alone that the players properly played their parts – embracing the good, bad, and ugly – lift these works up, granting them a kind of ‘modern epic’ status despite the fact that defending such stories might be the source of a little embarrassment.  We hate admitting that we enjoyed something others consider ‘less than worthy,’ but we nonetheless do it not out of any sense of personal responsibility but merely because we had an awful lot of fun with these movies; and we just can’t or won’t tolerate anyone suggesting we’re wrong for doing so.
 
That’s my upfront assessment of 1993’s Demolition Man.
 
On the one hand, this Sylvester Stallone formula picture could easily be dismissed as a bit of theatrical fluff, certainly not fit for the likes of an Academy Award winning actor, writer, and producer even though it’s made immeasurably stronger by his involvement.  A goofy action movie script that works through some rather lazy or cheap humor, Demolition essentially is a series of action set pieces strung together somewhat loosely around a SciFi premise, and I doubt many think much about it when compared to Stallone’s catalogue of serious works like Rocky (1976), Rocky II (1979), Victory (1981), and First Blood (1982).
 
On the other hand, this was the 1990’s, and the star Stallone had kinda/sorta fallen on hard times commercially and critically.  His signature masculinity didn’t do much to elevate the financial returns; and picture like Cobra (1986), Over The Top (1987), the horrible Rocky V (1990), and some stunningly insipid comedies like Oscar (1991) and Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot (1992) had somewhat desecrated a screen legacy no one thought possible based on those earlier works.  Fate being what it is, perhaps who was there better positioned to play the role of Detective John Spartan – an unabashed and unapologetic toxic male if ever there were waking up in a future wherein he literally was considered a Neanderthal for his good deeds?
​

Those of us in the audience watching were certainly in on the joke.  This Stallone – in the guise of a character – was being cast aside precisely times were a’changin’, and the big screen macho heroes were no longer popular.  As a consequence, the script from Peter M. Lenkov, Robert Reneau, and Daniel Waters saw the Ubermensch saving the day in its Dystopian opening and then placed into cryogenic isolation in reward and punishment for doing the deed.  To the viewers, this wasn’t as much Spartan being penalized as it was Stallone being put on ice; so, yes, we were angered in response at seeing how callously the voices of authority were treating our screen hero.  How could they do this?  Didn’t they know who he was?  This was Rambo.  This was Rocky.  Why oh why could they be turning their back on him.
 
And that’s the set-up for the ultimate joke.
 
In the not-too-distant Utopian future, it turns out that a little bit of John Spartan is exactly what they need.  When the savior of tomorrow – Dr. Raymond Cocteau (Nigel Hawthorne) – thaws out a career criminal of legend – Simon Phoenix (Wesley Snipes) – to do the dirty work of eliminating his growing political opposition, then the San Angeles Police Department has no choice but to do the same in defrosting Spartan because – as the script says – “Send a maniac to catch one.”  Of course, these two met in the past – it’s the dynamic and explosive stuff of the film’s opening sequence – so it stands to reason that they’re going to meet again: when they do, it’s screen magic, the type of which Stallone had already established a screen history.
 
Thankfully, the humor doesn’t stop simply with the thematic formula.  Both Spartan and Phoenix – relics from a bygone age – walk about exploring San Angeles absolutely aghast at what the peacetime existence has done to us culturally.  Police officers are no longer trained to handle violence.  Taco Bell has become the pinnacle of dining.  Any and all behaviors deemed inappropriate – including swearing, for Christ’s sake! – have been allowed, and violators are subject to fines.  Even sex itself has been found ‘unnecessary,’ and copulation now takes place in a virtual world where human no longer touch or exchange fluids.  So much of what makes us human beings has been eliminated in the name of social perfection; and these constant discoveries – along with Spartan and Phoenix’s reactions – give Demolition Man a thick layer of brilliant and instantly recognizable satire.  Like the best action films ever made, this one is made for mass consumption, and it shows.
 
Added to the mix, actress Sandra Bullock managed to hold her own opposite the two big men in the whole production.  While she had yet to emerge as a screen presence all of her own, the actress’ box office potential was just being discovered at the time of Demolition Man.  In the role of Lieutenant Lenina Huxley, she imbues the screen with her legendary and wholesome ‘girl next door’ quality, serving as a comic foil to Stallone’s occasionally cynical stoicism.  As she’s exposed to the dark developments along the way, she naturally begins to see that not all is as good and rosy as she was believed it was.  Through her eyes, we – the audience – see that there are times when violence might be a necessary last resort; and it makes perfect sense.  Though some might consider her performance bordering on camp, I think it rather deftly balances some light-hearted banter against some bold pyrotechnics, helping audiences appreciate a progressive mindset that embraces Paradise at all costs despite the fact that sometimes it makes one look damn silly.
​

Praise aside, Demo has a few weaknesses worthy of note as well.
 
For example, I’m a huge fan of actor, writer, and comedian Denis Leary, but he’s just flat-out all wrong here.  Cast in the role of Edgar Friendly – the source of the political revolution against Utopia – he never quite sounds like a true renaissance man so much as he does a funnyman given a few snappy lines to demonstrate the cause for social upheaval.  Benjamin Bratt, too, never quite fits comfortable in the shoes of the future cop who discovers he likes the way things were done back in Spartan’s day; sadly, his epiphany takes place offscreen, so when he shows up in the last reel embracing the ideals of free choice it feels manufactured instead of authentic.  There’s also a cadre of thugs who get taken out of deep freeze at Phoenix’s request; about the time when one expects their arrival might foreshadow a twist in the plot it’s discovered that, no, they’re just a bunch of dumb heavies who are brought aboard to do nothing more than what dumb heavies do.  That’s a disappointment.
 
But as the lion’s share of the action surrounds Stallone and Snipes, Demolition Man retains its power whenever they’re onscreen.  They’ve both done this stuff before to an impressive degree, so it’s easy to see why their match-up works even when some of the written dialogue is a bit beneath them.  In fact, I’ve often suggested that Demo feels very much like it may’ve started out in clear B-Movie territory – the kind of stuff that studios produce, realize it isn’t quite up-to-snuff, and they relegate it to either pay cable releases or even direct-to-DVD.  Somewhere along the way – likely when Stallone and Snipes boarded it – everyone realized that these A-listers were doing what they were paid to do and then some, giving the entire feature a chance to defy the odds.
 
Alas, that wasn’t the case.
 
Reported to have cost around $58 million to make, the film grossed about just that in the U.S.; and it needed those international receipts to push the project to about $160 million worldwide.  Even in those terms, Google.com indicates that the studio still never considered the project a commercial success of any kind.  Not even its three 1994 Saturn Awards nominations – in the categories of ‘Best Special Effects,’ ‘Best Costumes,’ and ‘Best Science Fiction Film’ – generated the kind of buzz or praise that the studio felt the picture needed; and yet somehow – like some films just do – it survived those shortcomings, complaints, and misperceptions to be christened with solid Cult status.
 
Demolition Man (1993) was produced by Warner Bros. and Silver Pictures.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Arrow Films.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be exceptional across the board: yes, there’s a sequence or two with special effects a bit undercooked, but methinks that only adds to the appeal of the whole experience.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  In order to be perfectly clear, I’m doing the reliable copy-and-paste from Arrow’s press release previously published on Blu-ray.com:
​

• ​​NEW 4K RESTORATION from the original 35mm camera negative by Arrow Films, approved by director Marco Brambilla
• DOLBY VISION/HDR PRESENTAITON OF THE FILM
• Includes both the domestic "Taco Bell" and international "Pizza Hut" versions of the film presented via seamless branching
• Original lossless DTS-HD MA 5.1 and Dolby Atmos audio options
• Optional English subtitles for the deaf and hard of hearing
• Brand new audio commentary by director Marco Brambilla and screenwriter Daniel Waters
• Brand new audio commentary by film historian Mike White of the Projection Booth podcast
• Archive audio commentary by Marco Brambilla and producer Joel Silver
• Demolition Design, a new interview with production designer David L. Snyder
• Cryo Action, a new interview with stunt coordinator Charles Percini
• Biggs' Body Shoppe, a new interview with special make-up effects artist Chris Biggs
• Tacos and Hockey Pucks, a new interview with body effects set coordinator Jeff Farley
• Somewhere Over the Rambo, a new visual essay by film scholar Josh Nelson
• Theatrical trailer
• Image gallery
• 60-page perfect bound collector's book featuring new writing by film critics Clem Bastow, William Bibbiani, Priscilla Page and Martyn Pedler
• Limited edition packaging featuring newly commissioned artwork by Laurie Greasley
• Double-sided fold-out poster featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Laurie Greasley
• 6 postcard sized artcards
• 'Three Seashells' and 'Edgar Friendly graffiti' stickers
• Reversible sleeve featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Laurie Greasley

 
As a bit of clarification, I’m only provided an industry copy of the disc when I receive these promotional releases, folks: as such, I cannot speak to the efficacy of the provided inserts, artwork, booklets, or anything else.  Always consider those items “buyer beware” unless I specify differently.  I can say that I’ve enjoyed all of the supporting video materials, and they’re quite good, especially the video essay from Josh Nelson.  It’s a great spin on a genre film worth thinking about.
 
Strongly Recommended.
 
I’ll likely go to my grave arguing relentlessly that 1993’s Demolition Man is – without a doubt – the finest B-Movie ever given A-level treatment.  Director Brambilla took a comedy-infused script, imbued it with a layer of satire, cast a few marquee names in central roles (along with a list of talented supporting players), and truly swung for the fences with this great entry into the world of Science Fiction and Fantasy.  Though I’ll always gripe about cheap throwaway lines that could’ve been improved with either better delivery or another rewrite, Demolition tears down the house in all the right ways, giving the Italian Stallion perhaps his best attempt at cracking the genre that his screen buddy Schwarzenegger claimed dominance over for so long.  While others still clamor for a sequel (I keep hearing one is in development), I’m all in favor of leaving this world in the near perfect condition it is.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary industry Blu-ray copy of Demolition Man (1993) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

I’ve made no secret in my writing on SciFiHistory.Net that – for a brief time in the late 1980’s I worked in video rental and retail.
 
For movie fans, the period was a glorious time.  As more and more homes were being outfitted with some pretty spectacular home viewing packages, and every Tuesday consumers relied on both the local electronic superstore and the nearest video rental giant to have their shelves restocked with only the latest and (snicker snicker) greatest assortment of new releases.  As I’ve often opined, this monumental consumer demand had U.S. domestic distributors maximizing their overseas contacts for anything good, bad, or ugly in films big and small added to their catalogues; this ensured that the catalogue of viewing possibilities offered up just about anything that had ever been captured before a camera was eventually available for consumption.  Buyers and renters were hungry beyond belief; and they ate heartily thanks mostly to the working staff of the corner video store.
 
Of course, this didn’t meant that every meal was a delicacy.
 
Because a vast array of these new releases were produced quickly by storytellers and manufacturers seeking to capitalize on this weekly feeding frenzy, a great deal of schlock – some funny, some bloody, some just plain weird – wound up recorded on ¾ inch magnetized tape found its way into random visual snacking.  The rental prices were incredibly affordable – especially when compared to heading out to the cineplexes – so customers were exceptionally patient with the films, giving the talent plenty of time to produce even a single reason to keep watching.  Besides, it was entertainment at the cost of a couple of bucks, so no one really complained if there were a unmitigated stinker in the bunch as  the family would just laugh it all off.
 
While there have been a great handful of documentaries looking back on this fateful time in film history, I’ve not seen something like The Last Video Store (2023) before, and I’m sure this is what its makers intended.  Written by Joshua Roach and Tim Rutherford, the smart and funny script posits that – somewhere out there – a demon taking the shape of an otherwise harmless VHS tape – the Videonomicon – stakes out such fertile territory of the remaining video renters for the purpose of infecting these filmed experiences and transposing their heroes, villains, and demons into the real world.  If such dark magic existed, then unsuspecting viewers might find themselves fighting for their lives against some of the screen’s vilest low-budget creations, all at the cost of a single rental fee.
 
As much homage as it is satire to those days of old, The Last Video Store might just be the most fun I’ve had with a flick all damn year.
 
Yes.  It’s that tempting.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
​

From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A young woman who is unknowingly in possession of a legendary ‘cursed tape’ takes a collection of old video tapes to a video store. She and the store owner reawake its curse, which leads to the release of a raft of cinematic villains.”
 
To appreciate what unbridled joy a picture like The Last Video Store is, it helps to understand a bit of what made the era of home video so captivating.
 
Back in the days of video rental, the big studio Hollywood output honestly sometimes stood shoulder-to-shoulder beside the lowest rung of the ladder production on the shelves of the corner Blockbuster.  Mind you, these savvy distributors knew as much; so, the purveyors of some of the least irredeemable garbage learned early in the process to prepare their marketing slicks and VHS packages to resemble that massively budgeted competition.  In such an environment, most consumers – or, at least, enough – couldn’t tell a Steven Spielberg production from a Charles Band magnum opus; and if the packages looked similar enough, didn’t it stand to reason that the films might anyway?  Such confusion helped a good number of smaller releases find new life when they were transferred onto VHS.
 
Furthermore, the success of home rental and retail was some might say owed precisely to the emergence of these smaller, unheard-of titles being able to finally compete mano-a-mano in the big leagues.  If dad went to the store to rent a copy of, say, Friday The 13th for the kiddos and the tape was unavailable, then he’d be forced to come home with an alternative; for better or worse, this was more often than not something a fellow customer or an available clerk recommended to him that most resembled Friday The 13th in respectable kill ratios, narrative structure, or crowd appeal.  Phenomenologically, such endless possibilities made hits out of an indie flick like Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead (1981) as well as turned box office duds like Tremors (1990) into one of the most lucrative franchises in Horror/Comedy.  For the record, both of these franchises have enjoyed sequels, reboots, and even spinoff TV shows, and that’s demonstrative of just how powerful the home video craze was.  It was a juggernaut – a veritable beast of its own creation.
 
Alas, nothing lasts forever, and that’s precisely where The Last Video Store picks up the action.
 
Having come home to find her father deceased, Nyla (played by Yaayaa Adams) accepts the responsibility of returning the man’s delinquent video rentals to the store.  Kevin (played by Kevin Martin) is the outlet’s only remaining employee, so much so that it’s suggested he pretty much lives in the back room.  Seeing the tapes, he instinctively knows they’re returns from his favorite (and only, it would seem, customer); and – wanting a bit of distraction from his lowly existence – he tries to engage Nyla in the usual chatter about films, her father, and even more films.  Lo and behold, Nyla has a VHS in her possession that she believes came from the store but didn’t; and before the night is over the two will be joined in an adventure that bridges time, space, and reality in a way that only happens in the movies.
​

As for the tape? 
 
Why, it’s called the Videonomicon – a clever play on words referencing Evil Dead’s ‘Necronomicon,’ the Book of the Dead.  It possesses the singular ability to bring to life anything shown on tape, be it a creature, a demon, a killer, a fighter for justice, and much, much more.  As the cursed tape works its devil magic, Nyla and Kevin will join forces – along with a creation or two pulled from the cinematic ether – in a bid to save the world from this video evil.
 
This is the kind of zany lunacy that can only be made by folks who both lived through and survived this home video age that I spoke of above; and they wanted to both give those days a healthy send-up along with a bit of an homage.  The Last Video Store clearly is crafted to be a bit tongue-in-cheek at times, but all of its players embrace the madness in such a way that – like many of those goofy and/or gory releases of yesteryear – you can’t help but keep watching.  Every facet of the video revolution gets lampooned, from the infant days of fledgling CGI, to the massive preponderance of violent slasher films, up to the low-budget oft-times karate infused action thrillers that were made on the cheap and released without pity.  It’s all in here – all amped up with a bit of hysterical practical effects – and it’s a nonstop delight for the run of its bold 100 minutes.
 
The staging is inspired, setting all of the action almost entirely within the curious confines of the back alley rental space in the basement of some non-descript building.  The shelves are crammed with titles of the kind of flicks that don’t sound quite mainstream but have that promise of unexpected action and intrigue.  The walls are splashed with posters for many of the feature films, all of the reminiscent of the days when colorful images crept beneath overlaid five-inch-high letters that relied on taglines aplenty to seduce each and every patron.  It’s all a bit cramped and maybe slightly uncomfortable, but the tone is perfect for the dire straits our duo find themselves at the end of the world or trapped between this and that (whichever is your preference).  It isn’t often that a small unheard-of flick hits so many of the pitch perfect tones, but Store is as much a visual as it is a narrative delight.
 
Adams and Martin are an incongruous pair, the kind whose union wasn’t as meant in Heaven as it was by the linked circumstances.  While the lady is particularly impressive by grounding the story in reality (she’s the Everyman who knows nothing about the home video rental business much less the history of film itself), Martin bobs and weaves between some deadpan, cineaste intellectualism and socially reserved manic intensity the way only the best comic players can accomplish.  They’re a subversive incarnation of Abbott & Costello or Laurel & Hardy (for those of you who are as long in the tooth as I am) with just a hint of the contemporary Pegg & Frost or Key & Peele.  Audiences delight in seeing them play off one another, and their chemistry elevates every moment crafted for their individual or shared strengths.  It’s the kind of match-up that needs to be seen to be fully appreciated, and I do so much hope as many folks as humanly possible get a chance to see their work here.
 
Lastly, the feature plays on nostalgia a good deal of the time to make both the situation and the theatrical magic work.  Though I could nitpick some kinda/sorta lazy swipes at toxic masculinity (Josh Lenner stars as a third-rate action star wannabe who gets pulled into our world by the Videonomicon, and his comeuppance is that today’s reality has dubbed his heroics as outdated and unnecessary histrionics), it’s still clear that all of this is meant to be taken in stride as it is in jest.  For that reason, I’ll give his dubious ‘Viper’ character a pass and, instead, enjoy the wild ride to its big, bloody finish.
​

The Last Video Store (2023) was produced by NJC Picture Company, Genco Pictures, and The Last Video Store.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Arrow Films.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be exceptional: there are some post-production tricks that might suggest – to the uninitiated – some poor film stock, but it’s nothing for regular audiences to fret over.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  For clarity’s sake, I’m doing the ol’ copy-and-paste from Arrow’s press release previously published on Blu-ray.com:

• High Definition presentation
• Original DTS HD M5.1 audio
• Optional English subtitles for the deaf and hard of hearing
• New audio commentary by film critics Matt Donato & Meagan Navarro
• The Videonomicon Unleashed, a new visual essay by film critic Heather Wixson co-author of In Search of Darkness
• Nostalgia Fuel, a new visual essay by film critic Martyn Pedlar
• 'Twas the Night of the Tree Beast, a 2012 short by Cody Kennedy & Tim Rutherford
• M is For Magnetic Tape, a 2013 short film Cody Kennedy & Tim Rutherford
• The Last Video Store 2013, the original short from which the feature grew
• The Video Store Commercial, a 2019 short film by Cody Kennedy & Tim Rutherford
• Clips from the first attempted feature version
• Behind the Scenes
• 3 previs shorts
• Trailer
• Image Gallery
• Illustrated collector's booklet featuring new writing by film critics Anton Bitel and Alexandra West
• Reversible sleeve featuring newly commissioned artwork by John Pearson
• Double-sided fold-out poster featuring newly commissioned artwork by John Pearson

 
Lastly, I would caution readers that as I’m only provided an industry copy of the disc itself, I cannot speak to the efficacy of the physical inserts offered in this set.  You’ll have to consider those items “buyer beware.”
​

Highest Recommended Possible.
 
Without a doubt, The Last Video Store (2023) is the kind of project that both conceived and made by people who love film for people who love film … and it shows.  While some might suggest that it’s intended chiefly for audiences who love ‘second rate features,’ I think that implies that there are flicks out there undeserving of so much love, appreciation, and attention.  I’ll concede that Store might lack the labyrinthian plot and marquee pedigree that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences might have in mind come awards season, but that’s only because those stuffed shirts never ventured outside of Hollywood into the breadbox of America where regular folks long ago learned to find diamonds in the rough in the least likely places.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray copy of The Last Video Store (2023) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

Hey, folks!  Happy holidays!  Here’s hoping that everything is going wonderfully with you and yours during this … the silliest season of the year.
 
There’s been a great deal of online discussion – blogs, vlogs, news articles, etc. – regarding the news that Lucasfilm is intending a soft reboot of the Star Wars franchise taking it in a new direction with the character of Rey Skywalker-Palpatine.  For the record, this isn’t exactly the first time this debate has come up – I know I’ve sounded off on it before, frankly – but as the readership comes and goes, I’ve been asked in an email or two what my thoughts on the saga might be.  While I’m remiss to go into any great length on the topic, I figure now is as good as any time to sling a few sentences together.
 
Essentially, I think this all bubbled into a modest frenzy when – as I understand it – someone within the ranks of Lucasfilm let word slip that – as an intellectual property – Star Wars was now firmly in the hands of the aforementioned Rey Skywalker-Palpatine.  As best as I understand this, the suits felt that this self-proclaimed Jedi Knight is the centerpiece to any path going forward chiefly because the “Skywalker lineage” truly came to an end with – ahem – Chapter IX: The Rise Of Skywalker (2019).  Now, it’s curious that the powers that be are actually choosing to ignore the fact that it was Rey herself who claimed the name of Skywalker, thus continuing (for practical purposes) that saga they claim to be dead, but that’s sorta splitting hairs.  I think the underlying point is that Star Wars – as most of us knew it – was over; and the production company was finally positioned to blast off into that galaxy with all-new adventures from this juncture onward.
 
Of course, many folks online quickly pointed out that the only reason Lucasfilm might logically assert such an opinion is that (A) they killed Han Solo; (B) they killed Luke Skywalker; and (C) they killed Princess Leia … so yeah.  It’s pretty obvious that when you expire the core players of an Intellectual Property then all you’re left with is whatever remains.  For all practical purposes, it’s pretty easy to grasp why the company believes the future lies with Rey, despite the fact that Chewbacca is still around (so far as we know), as are R2D2 and C-3PO.  There was a time when franchise creator George Lucas had even suggested that the only characters who would run through the entire film series would inevitably be the seminal droids, methinks Disney and Lucasfilm aren’t bright enough to realize that might be a better creative choice than Rey is at present, but please keep in mind that I’m just a guy who writes about film on the World Wide Web.  What do I know, after all?
 
As I often do, I’m going to head into the past briefly to try and put a slightly different spin on this controversy.  Try to keep up.

It’s been said that a good deal of the success tied to Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope (1977) was not owed as much to George Lucas as it was his wife at the time, Marcia.  While her husband created the universe and shot the first film, many have suggested that his cuts of the feature production needed a great deal of tinkering to make it flow.  Precisely how much of these edits were entirely hers remains a subject of controversy, and yet the rumors persist even to this day that A New Hope wouldn’t have been the spectacular start it was without her contributions.  I’d encourage everyone to keep this in mind for the purposes of my argument, that being George – when left to his own devices – might not be the best storyteller out there.
 
Furthermore, it’s also been said that – ahem – Lucas himself was never very pleased with the ‘dark direction’ his saga took in The Empire Strikes Back (1980).  No one need take my word for it and do a bit of Googling into the topic; there’s plenty out there in cyberspace including that the creator was unhappy with the film’s downbeat, cliffhanger ending, going so far as to have him suggest that he personally found this second flick a bit boring.  Despite the fact that it’s his story (with some obvious additions from those credited in the process), Lucas was concerned that the ongoing storyline was turning away from entertaining “the children,” and he went to great lengths to course correct for the future.
 
Those of you who follow Robert Meyer Burnett online are probably aware that the pundit and entertainment consumer recently courted a bit of controversy with his suggestion that Star Wars: Episode VI – Return Of The Jedi was a lackluster addition to the franchise.  Mind you: in spite of the mild uproar, his statement wasn’t the first time something of this nature has been said.  In fact, I can attest to having lived through the theatrical run of the Original Trilogy that there were a great many fans who were disappointed as well.  Though the film has a few highpoints (special effects were pretty legendary, and the eventual showdown between Luke, Vader, and the Emperor delivered), its lows were despicably low.  Jabba’s Palace was overrun with Muppets.  This Jabba didn’t seem all that menacing, frankly.  The greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy was “killed” with a pratfall?  Don’t get me started on the Ewoks.  And three translucent dead guys standing around smiling at the end?  Sorry, folks, Jedi wasn’t a great film.  In fact, it’s always ranked pretty low on my scale, battling with The Phantom Menace for the bottom spot.
 
Still, in the wake of Jedi, it became clear what Lucas truly saw as the possibility for the Star Wars universe.  While many think that the property was put on hiatus, there were a few items that rolled out not long thereafter, namely (A) The Ewok Adventure (1984); (B) Star Wars: Droids (1985); (C) Star Wars: Ewoks (1985); and (D) Ewoks: The Battle For Endor (1985).  Though some of you might argue that Lucas himself has somewhat dismissed these additions from canon, I consider that a storyteller’s distraction from the fact that they’re clearly inferior.  Lucas was attached to all of these, contributing in various ways, so much so that I’ll always insist that they, too, need to be evaluated with where the grand wizard at the center thought his audience was.  If these installments are indicative of anything, it’s that he wanted to entertain children – or, at least, he provided what he thought children wanted to see – and it isn’t hard to see these same sentiments take shape with a great deal of the humor that would return to Star Wars when The Phantom Menace took to screens in 1999.
​

My point in bringing this up is that it isn’t hard to see that Lucas – as a storyteller – demonstrated precisely why he probably shouldn’t have been left to his own.  As Return Of The Jedi, these various TV offshoots, and The Phantom Menace clearly show, he saw the galaxy far, far away as a bit of comic property with some adventurous tangents involved space wizards and their light swords.  If Marcia Lucas truly saved A New Hope and her husband wasn’t happy with The Empire Strikes Back, then it stands to reason that one of the singular aspects to the universe that he got right was its creation: truly vivid tales needed to be spun with the addition of others, and maybe this is the lesson best learned from the Prequel Trilogy.
 
(Again, folks, this isn’t me ragging on George.  I’ve nothing but respect for what he’s done.  I’m just saying that the best Star Wars has come when he’s been part of a team and not monopolizing the center seat.)
 
All of this brings me to this whole Rey Skywalker-Palpatine kerfuffle.
 
Rey – as a character – just isn’t all that interesting.  She’s rather one dimensional – not unlike JarJar but lacking that comic foundation – and fandom for the most part sees her this same way.  As a force for good in a galaxy far, far away, there’s nothing wrong with the fact that she’s inspired allegedly a cavalry of young girls to turn to the Light Side: though I saw her more as a space-based Lara Croft in Star Wars: Episode VII – The Force Awakens (a film I’m on record plenty of times stating I didn’t like), I argued that she demonstrated the ability to swashbuckler her way through a feature, but I never found myself wondering what the future might hold for her.  Creating her as a flawless whole was a huge mistake: giving her an air of mystery that went undeveloped until the final film probably doomed the Sequel Trilogy in ways too complex to explore, and I’ll leave my complaints at that.  It isn’t that I disliked her because that was far from the case: it’s just that I didn’t care about her as a character, so her efforts and adventures just had so little narrative depth.
 
But given the fact that she’s been hamstrung with being the franchise’s only real survivor at this point, it’s entirely logical that Lucasfilm would see her as the only way forward.  Clearly, these aren’t the best and brightest folks working in Hollywood, and I say this entirely based on the best evidence.  What else could be the assessment for those who’ve taken one of the world’s most cherished sagas and reduced it to sheer nothingness?  Why wouldn’t these suits believe that the only way they can – ahem – return Star Wars to greatness would be to invest in the exact same character they used to derail it?  It’s all they know, so I can’t quite fault them despite the fact that I probably should.
 
While I don’t share their opinion of the ‘best way forward,’ I’ll always grant that they know best what course to plot because that’s what they’re paid to do.  But if you wanted Rey Skywalker-Palpatine to be a creation regarded as central to Star Wars so that she could stand shoulder-to-shoulder in pop culture with Darth Vader … with Luke Skywalker … with Han Solo … with Princess Leia … with Chewbacca … with R2D2 … with even C-3PO … then (here’s the big question) why have you literally done nothing with her ever since?  Heroes can be born just as much as heroes can be made: if you made her this big, brash champion, then why nothing more since The Rise Of Skywalker ended?
​

No, no, and no: I’m not saying that there should’ve been a Rey movie immediately put into production with the conclusion of the Sequel Trilogy.  I’m not suggesting that perhaps even a small telefilm or two or even a limited series could’ve been greenlit.  Why not comics?  Why no cartoon?  Why no comic books?  Why no novels?  Why no expansion in the toy market?  Why not special clothing line?  Why let your hero vanish into obscurity in the meantime?  Why didn’t the suits realize that they had a good thing when it was there, so much so that they had to keep it going, or is the dirty little secret really that you’ve got nothing, you know you’ve got nothing, and now you’re just grasping at straws for a way to keep the IP alive?
 
Look: I’ve no problem with seeing ‘the continuing adventures of Rey Skywalker-Palpatine’ become a thing.  Mind you: I likely won’t be watching, nor does it seem all that inviting to me.  Like The Acolyte, Lucasfilm seems to be operating from a standpoint suggesting that Star Wars is a niche property that only appeals to the LGBTQ+ community, and I’m not a part of that.  I gave up on The Mandalorian in Season 3, and, no, I’m likely not going back for the big movie.  Ahsoka was mind-numbingly boring.  And Star Wars: The Bad Batch?  How do you take a show about a squadron of battle-hardened clone warriors and turn it into a show about a little girl?  Though that had some good moments, it ended in a place I didn’t care for, so I’m likely done with any forthcoming animated efforts as well.  But, hey, go on with that whole Rey Trilogy, and I’m sure it’ll be a big success.
 
What kinda/sorta defies logic, nonetheless, is the fact that if Lucasfilm and Disney want to court a young female audience, then why not do it with a young Princess Leia Diaries show?  Such a project would allow recasting.  It would give producers the chance to sell the message of a young, confident woman going out and making the world – the galaxy, even – her oyster, as they say.  And they might even get a bit of spillover, meaning that old fans might tune in for the sake of nostalgia at seeing some untold chapters in the life of a character they know and love.  If done right, then it could return the IP to the place it was before the Walt Disney Company bought it … and, yet, I can’t imagine that’s a goal these knuckleheads would aspire to.
 
Dare I say “The Force has left the building” seems to be the mantra for the modern era?

​Lucasfilm doesn’t want serious fans – the kind who want good stories without a bit of politics – and, instead, they only want your money.

-- EZ 
​

I wasn’t exactly raised on ghost stories.
 
Oh, like so many of my era, I grew up watching a good deal of thrills, chills, and spills, but the more traditional ghost stories just weren’t really around, unless you wanted them in comic form with mostly comic actors and actresses. Why, it was almost as if ghosts and their usual haunts were forbidden from the youth of my day, leaving such tales the province of more adult audiences than they ever were the young’uns. As I said, you could find plenty of more traditional laughers — the Three Stooges, the Bowery Boys, Abbott and Costello, Tim Conway and Don Knotts, etc., and they’d ape it up on screens big and small for hearty guffaws — and these were the kind of films that were built more on overacting than they were authentic terror of any measure.  It really wasn’t until I got into my teens — the great 1980’s — that Horror storytelling truly expanded in such a way that young and old were welcomed to the cineplexes. Mind you: the adults in the room may not have been elated over sharing space with us, but we came anyway … and we came by the thousands.
 
Furthermore, it wasn’t until the 1990’s — what with the expanse of home video accessibility in the United States — that I ever knew anything about foreign imports in any genre. Occasionally, we’d get some poorly dubbed entries broadcast on syndicated television channels, but for the most part I didn’t get the chance to explore Japanese, Chinese, Korean, or other country’s Horror until the corner Blockbuster Video had them in respectable supply.  Consequently, I don’t consider myself an expert on them in any regard. While I might not be completely unaware of their existence, styles, and trends, I — like many of you — still have plenty to learn about them … and this is why I was hip to check out Arrow Films’ recent collection, J-Horror Rising, an assortment of seven flicks that emerged near the end of the last century, sending audiences on a wild ride into a haunted tomorrow.
 
Next up: 2001’s St. John’s Wort.
 
Directed by Ten Shimoyama, the script for St. John’s Wort was penned by Goro Nakajima, adapting the 1992 ‘visual novel’ Otogirisō created by Shukei Nagasaka.  For those unaware – and I was, so don’t take it personally – visual novels were a type of book by way of video gaming; and – from what I’ve read on Wikipedia.org – they were widely popular in Japan up through 2006, comprising up to seventy percent of the consumer products.  As kind of a ‘plot your own adventure’ experience, readers were given the opportunity to follow a wider story by making a handful of interactive choices that could lead to different endings.  The film starred Megumi Okina, Yôichirô Saitô, Kôji Ohkura, Reiko Matsuo, and Minoru Terada in prominent roles.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
​

From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A game designer, and his girlfriend Nami, drive out to a decrepit mansion she just inherited, to film backgrounds for a new video game called St. John's Wort.”
 
On hundreds of occasions across SciFiHistory.Net, I’ve mentioned to readers the phrase: “I don’t game.”
 
There is a huge, huge, huge business within the wider entertainment industry that ties to video gaming; and I’ve often confessed to the readership that I’ve just never been bitten by that bug.  I bring this up specifically because it relates to the central issue that kept me from enjoying St. John’s Wort, a kinda/sorta loose cinematic experience that feels very much like the games produced in the U.S. throughout a good portion of the 1990’s (or, at least, the ones I tried to enjoy).  Essentially, players would find themselves at a somewhat magical, mystical location; and they’d spend the majority of their interactive time trying to learn some lesson which allowed them to either advance to higher levels of confusion, ‘get back home,’ or simply win the game.  Many of the things learned or tasks accomplished were incredibly simplistic (i.e. magic potions under a rock, secret doors hidden behind paintings, etc.); and participants would have to keep track of these various tricks, often required to use them in some specific combination to take the next steps in the world.
 
I realize that might all sound a bit ambiguous; and that’s exactly why the whole gaming thing never took with me.  What some found novel, I found a bit bland.  Because I don’t remember bland, I could never quite ‘get into’ the whole journey to far, far away places; and I tuned out gaming as a consequence.  Granted, this wasn’t for all electronic games, but you’ll have to trust me when I say that some of the hottest properties followed this basic construct faithfully.  Suffice it to say, players used to invest a great deal of time in solving these various riddles because this was what made for a great few hours in front of the computer screen.
 
In any event, St. John’s Wort reminds me of those fateful days.
 
Video game designer Nami Kikushima (played by Megumi Okina) is in the midst of crafting what she hopes will be a big video seller when she gets news that her mother has passed, leaving her a small fortune along with Nami’s childhood home.  Seeking a bit of inspiration for her new game, Nami and her producer, Kohei Matsudaira (Yôichirô Saitô), travel to the secluded mansion and discovered one bizarre room after another.  As the two make their way through the creepy palace, Nami slowly recalls the circumstances of her youth – an artistic but distant father, a possible twin sister, etc. – and she slowly realizes that her repressed past might hold the key to understanding what went on in perhaps one of the spookiest old houses ever brough to life on the silver screen.
 
Sadly, St. John’s Wort – which had a solid premise – squanders all of its potential with a great deal of slow pacing, even-slower discoveries, and some of the most bizarre cinematography explored in a video game adaptation.  Instead of spending any real time creating authentic characters to trap within this nightmarish locale, director Shimoyama engages in an array of post-production trickery, varying the color palate and mixing up various film textures and techniques to give the film what he likely believed would be another layer of – ahem – visual mystery.  Well, it succeeded only so much as to keep me asking “what the Hell is he doing” over and over again, and that’s not exactly a good thing.  Once several sequences also involved a handful of what were obviously fixed security camera views, it became clear that this theatrical overkill was more important than the characters – much like those games I mentioned above – and I had to consciously resist tuning out on the whole affair.
 
What makes this a crying shame is the fact that Wort does have a mildly interesting story – yes, Nami had a twin, and he/she lived a dark existence – and an incredibly well-conceived haunted old house with which audiences are generally fascinated.  Had Shimoyama dialed back the reliance on weird visuals and constantly shifting angles to simply deliver a central mystery, there might’ve been something special to all of this.  Okina and Saitô aren’t compelling enough players to elevate the characters they play to match the jarring intensity of their captured footage, and this lack of investment on the part of the audience will likely have most scratching their heads over what they’re supposed to make of this oddity at best.
​

St. John’s Wort (2001) was produced by Kadokawa Shoten, Asmik Ace Entertainment, Toho, and Imagica.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Arrow Films.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights and sounds to be acceptable, at best: far too many sequences rely on the constantly shifting visual tones of the picture, so much so that I’m surprised everyone involved felt this one should be released as is to the general public.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? 

• Brand new audio commentary on St. John's Wort by Japanese cinema expert Amber T.
• The Making of St. John's Wort, archival featurette
• Archive interviews with St. John's Wort actors Megumi Okina, Koichiro Saito, Reiko Matsuo and Koji Okura
• On-set behind-the-scenes footage of the filming of St. John's Wort
• Original trailers and TV spots for St. John's Wort
• Image galleries

 
I don’t generally say all that much about audio commentaries, but I will suggest to those investing time with Wort to check out Amber T’s track on this one if – after watching the film – you do wish to know more.  This is one of the first times I feel a commentary is ‘required viewing’ to understanding what it is that Wort both set out to do and ultimately achieved, though you might end up disagreeing with the Japanese film expert.  My point is that she explains the flick on a level that made me appreciate the effort; without her insights, my score on this would be even lower.
 
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
 
To my dismay, St. John’s Wort is such a mixed bag of ideas and execution that it’s hard to encourage others to spend time with it … well, except for purists and fans of the truly out there.  Its characters are just too flat, and their single dimensionality grows more obvious as the flick’s visuals grow more and more artistic and occasionally experimental.  Had as much effort been expended on delivering folks worth following on this macabre journey, then this could’ve been something modestly special.  As it is?  A stunningly great haunted house – complete with a small army of bodies, secret rooms, and anything else you could want in a location – is wasted on little more than camera trickery.
 
In the interest of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray copy of Inugami (2001) – as part of their J-Horror Rising Limited Edition Blu-ray Collection – by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

Actor Earl Holliman holds a special place in the minds and hearts of serious genre fans around the world if for no other reason that he was tapped to star in the pilot episode of Rod Serling's TV Classic The Twilight Zone.  This alone should earn him the honor of being the subject of a Jeopardy question, and yet thankfully there are a few more reasons to celebrate the man and his work today.

For example: in the role of the spacecraft's cook aboard 1956's Forbidden Planet, he was chiefly responsible for securing some swell-tasting hooch from Robbie the Robot on the distant planet of Altair IV.  (And we all know how important hooch can be in space when you're stranded millions of lightyears form home, am I right?)  That, too, is cause for celebration.

But there's even more.

​A rundown of the man's resume on IMDB.com shows that his career also intersected with such properties as Visit To A Small Planet (1960), The Power (1968), The Six Million Dollar Man: Wine, Women, And War (1973), Doberman Patrol (1973), Captain Planet And The Planeteers, and NightMan.  Though it could be argued that he'll likely be best remembered for his role aboard the 1970's police procedural Police Woman (alongside Angie Dickinson), I'm glad that he dabbled outside the lines in the realms of the Fantastic so that I can feature him here.

Our warmest prayers are extended to the family, friends, and fans of Earl Holliman.

May he rest in reace.

-- EZ
​

(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints, then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Lola is trapped. She is trapped in life, work, and now in her older brother, Lou's, house with his unbalanced roommate, Cage. When the city of Los Angeles shuts down for mysterious reasons, a packet of seeds show up on their doorstep, giving birth to an alien plant. What secrets does this plant hold? Will its answers set Lola free? Or will it drive this trio to madness?”
 
From what I understand, Lovecraftian Horror – named after its widely acknowledged creator H.P. Lovecraft (1890-1937) – is a sub-genre of the main category that deals mostly with unfathomable.  These terrors tend to explore the plight of protagonists who struggle to comprehend the mechanics of a world around them that neither looks nor acts the way ours does.  While these stories might have some of Horror’s usual tropes, I’ve read that their narrative tends to focus more on the abject dreadfulness of the characters’ circumstances and not the usual thrills, chills, and spills.  There’s an otherworldliness to it all – one that defies conventional explanation – and this serves as a focal point when the players come together.
 
That’s about as apt a description as I can give for the substance of Terror Firma (2023), an independent Horror/Fantasy written and directed by Jake Macpherson.  I’ve read some suggestions online that the flick was a bit of a darling on the film festival circuit, and I don’t doubt such assertions: the low-budget approach to heady ideas often garners an extra bit of attention from brainiacs who frequent festivals.  I have found, however, that such acclaim typically doesn’t extend to more mainstream audiences, the kind of folks who pony up a couple of bucks while expecting to understand all of what they see, of which I usually consider myself.  So, yes, I’ll admit that Terror Firma was a bit too elusive for me to give it any enthusiastic praise, but I’ll try to focus in on what worked versus what didn’t as briefly as possible.
 
Lola (played by Faye Tamasa) finds herself without a roof over her head at the exact time martial law is declared in Los Angeles.  Thankfully, her adoptive brother Louis (Burt Thakur) has an extra room he can spare, but this will mean that she’ll also be sharing common space with Cage (Robert Brettenaugh), a potentially violent and self-destructive roommate who isn’t above violating Lola’s personal space if it means he might garner himself some desperate affections in the process.  Together, the three of them hunker down for this unexplained Apocalypse, never thinking of questioning the voices of authority that boom out via loudspeaker from helicopters passing overhead.
 
But on her way to Louis’ home, Lola discovers a glistening black-petaled flower that has grown out of the soil in isolation from other plants.  Not knowing what to make of it – is it natural, is it alien, is it part of the reason our planet has gone into lockdown – she moves along and reaches safety.

At the house, the trio are excited to receive their first shipment of ‘survival supplies’ from the local government – mostly food staples – and Lola is surprised to discover a small unlabeled packet containing berry-like seeds within.  Unsure of what to make of them, she inevitably decides to take one outside, digs a small hole, and plunks it into the earth.  The next morning, they’re all surprised to find that the seed has birthed a small hole, at the bottom of which is a fragrant jelly that both smells and tastes differently to each of them.  Still, the one similarity ingesting it produces is a euphoric high, and such bliss is a welcome distraction from the dead world that has resulted from this quarantine.
 
However, each of them process their respective exhilarations differently, with Louis growing the most enraptured with it.  Eventually, he injects himself with it, and – while it’s never explained – he’s physically transported to another plane of existence, one that somehow resides down the hole from which the transcendental medicine was magically produced.  Both Lola and Cage – who is also growing more and more mesmerized with the experienced ecstasy – can speak to the man by talking into the opening, but is there any means with which to get him back?
 
If you haven’t noticed, then let me assure you bluntly that – ahem – Macpherson never attempts to explain any of how this world works, where it originates from, nor why it has evolved.  Like the mysterious lockdowns, the seed, the jelly, and the states of altered consciousness are little more than screenwriting magic; and it’s probably best that no one look any deeper as answers never come.  Suffice it to say, viewers are given one enigma after another and are expected to just ‘roll with the punches’ across this increasingly confusing landscape.  Eventually, Cage gets – ahem – personal with the hole (yes, pun intended); and the result is another one of those black flowers Lola stumbled across in the opening.  So are we to believe that someone had relations with a hole in the street to set all of this in motion, or could there possibly be a more conventional explanation?  Don’t worry … as we’ve never told.
 
Eventually, Cage crossed the threshold into psychopathy, and he seeks to have Lola all of his own despite his previously established fondness for having sex with the dirt.  The young woman manages to find her own way into this other reality – which essentially amounts to a lot of visual postproduction trickery involving Louis’ house and an even larger hole in the ground – and she figures out the mechanics of transversing between the two worlds, giving her a chance to save her brother from his fate in the ether.  There’s still that whole business with Cage to be resolved, and it’s only some quick thinking by our heroine that ultimately rescues the two of them from their roommate’s homicidal behavior before it’s all too late.
 
As I’ve said (or, at least, strongly suggested), I’m no fan of treading lightly in worlds that make little sense.  I can forgive a bit of narrative trickery here and there, but I’ll always insist that stories are thematically made stronger by giving audiences clear and concise answers even if that requires them to swallow a little bit of sugar alongside that dose of salt.  Terror Firma could’ve been made a better experience is Macpherson and his cast minimally had a single scene that hammered out such details, thus taking the audience with them on this fantastical journey in full knowledge of what was happening in each moment in time.  But because that never happens, the film retains this overwhelming sense that it was all made up in progress, so much so that no character really has a scene that feels fully scripted for effective delivery.  About the time when I thought I had a firm grasp on this altered reality, something else changed – or worse, a seemingly established rule was broken – and I had to do a bit of a reset.  Eventually, I just went with the conceit that “this isn’t meant to be clearly understood,” and I turned off my gray matter … something I never like to do.
 
Despite my shortcomings with the script, I do think that Tamasa handled her role admirably.  In an era wherein alpha females have become the norm and males have been sacrificed on the altar of identity politics, she still struggles to overcome the oppressiveness of isolation, finally securing a family worth fighting for in the last reel.  Brettenaugh, too, manages a level of creep consistently throughout the piece, almost to the point wherein viewers were probably expecting him to pull out a blunt object and just kill anything within arm’s reach whether he was attracted to it or not.  Granted, it ain’t easy to muster up a romantic attraction to a mound of dirt, but even in that circumstance the actor seems entirely at ease with his descent into madness even though Cage believes ‘all is good.’
​

Still, Terror Firma emerges as a hard film to recommend on any level to regular folks.  Film aficionados and/or students might find something with its charm of accomplishing what it does on the smallest scale imaginable (this is clearly shot almost entirely at one location); and, sure, maybe that’s impressive.  But being a character first and story second kinda guy, I had trouble centering on anyone likeable.  Lola is the only person who drew me in, but I kept stumbling over her circumstances: at one point, it seemed like she had fully abandoned the house only then to turn up back there in the next scene, so I may’ve missed something along the way.  While I appreciate Cage’s strangeness, I’d also add that Louis just didn’t have enough to do, making this an uneven watch all around.
 
Terror Firma (2023) was produced by Capture Theory.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at MVD Visual Entertainment.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be pretty good consistently: there’s a good deal of optical effects once Lola and Louis are in this shadow world, and I’m not entirely convinced the best choices were made throughout those sequences.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The Blu-ray boasts a director’s commentary (a bit light) along with an extended Director’s Cut, some behind-the-scenes galleries, and the theatrical trailer.  It’s a solid assortment.
 
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
 
Though I’m a professed fan of both low-budget and independent genre efforts, I still found it hard to embrace Terror Firma mostly because it posed a lot of interesting questions yet posited no authentic answers.  I’m all for subterranean parallel realities, but minimally they should function off rules that are accessible to the viewership and (maybe even) compel audiences to think about the nature of reality versus “surreality.”  Here, it seems like the ideas are used as little more than a construct to weave a personal drama involving ‘the new normal’ family all against the backdrop of perplexing surroundings (i.e. martial law, dystopia, alternate dimensions, etc.); and, frankly, I needed to know a bit more.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at MVD Visual Entertainment provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Terror Firma (2023) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

One of the reasons I typically avoid Horror’s more mainstream properties is that it’s been my experience to be disappointed the longer the franchise stays afloat.
 
In other words, I’ve seen a good many intellectual properties develop a veneer of predictable schtick as opposed to rewarding long-term fans with even a modest bit of freshness.  The more chapters the seminal Freddy Krueger got, the goofier and goofier his kills had to grow.  The longer Jason Voorhees hung around, the sillier and sillier that flicks grew.  (Jason?  In space?  Really, Hollywood?)  Though each successive picture delving into the mysterious and exhaustive backdrop of the Saw universe’s mythology tried to sustain my interest, the more I wanted it all to end: torture porn has its place, but even that concoction grew tiresome somewhat quickly.  A solid first picture isn’t only a good start: it should be the first chapter in a developing novel, but producers tend to push creators to deliver more of the same, thinking that’s all the viewers require.  I’d argue even meat needs more than just potatoes for every meal … but maybe that’s just me.
 
Because this trend is very real and very much a force within the wider entertainment industry (meaning it also happens in Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Comedy franchises, too), I think there are those movers and shakers who bake it directly into their new creations right out of the gate.  If a picture gets made and experiences break-out success, then the demand for a sequel or two is strong enough for a return to the well of inspiration.  At this point, the push is all too often to recapture what fueled Episode One and infuse it into Episode Two.  Forget trying a mildly different direction.  Don’t even think about undoing anything audiences learned in the founding flick.  At best, creatives might add another layer of mystery to the core mythology, but there’s very little room for things like diversity or re-invention.  Part II should function like Part I … or else.
 
It's for this very reasoning that Adam Green perhaps built his Hatchet business: he had watched enough Horror – perhaps even studied enough of the thrills, chills, and spills – that he knew exactly what to do, when to do it, and at what point to leave his followers wanting more.  While there’s nothing wrong in doing so, I’d still argue that folks like me – the kind who are more inclined to go elsewhere as opposed to investing in more of the same – aren’t likely to hang around for the long haul.  If we do, then the prospects for our finding increased enjoyment with – ahem – the continuing adventures of Victor Crowley grow dim, even if we show up owed to the same efficiency with which the creator builds his next property.
 
Well … Hatchet II (2010) does end up being more of the same.  For better or worse, Green and his merry band of co-conspirators deliver a Part II that looks an awful lot like Part I.  Hell, it even begins in the closing moments of the first film; so, yes, I think it’s pretty safe to conclude that Part II more of the same.  That’s not a bad thing, but it is what it is.
​

(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Marybeth escapes the clutches of the bayou-butcher Victor Crowley and returns to the swamp with an army of hunters and gunmen, determined to end Crowley's reign of horror once and for all.”
 
Picking up right after the closing moments of Hatchet (2006) was, at best, a risky proposition.
 
Of course, I saw this knowing full well that a good many Horror franchise follows that kinda/sorta seminal rule.  When you leave them wanting more, what better place is there but to begin right there?  The upside is that – as a storyteller – you’re both relying on and expanding the linkage between successive films; the downside is that – in this case – it’s four years later, and those of us who watch closely might notice some of the details have shifted.  As an example, lead actress Danielle Harris – as luminous as she is in the guise of our heroine Marybeth Dunstan – looks a bit more grown-up than she did in Part I.  Gone is that hint of youthfulness that fueled her first foray into the swamp; and – in its place – is a young woman who looks a bit more like she’s taken on the world with some small costs.
 
Again, this isn’t a complaint.  It’s only a critical observation.  As I said, some of us notice these things, and they are a reality that can plague a production whether that be good or bad.  In this case, some might suggest that Marybeth has understandably aged as a consequence of what she experienced from Crowley in that first picture.  I’d be quick to argue that – ahem – that’s not quite how the world outside works, and – whether you like it or not – it can spoil the fictional aesthetic.  Small things like this matter, but I’ll leave that as it is.
 
Sticking true to the oft-practiced development of a Horror franchise, writer/director Green tries to flesh out the folklore a bit.  What we come to learn new from the whole affair is that Victor’s curse – introduced in the previous film – is tied to three young men whose names are now fully known by Reverend Zombie (played by the late Tony Todd).  Believing that since he knows how the torment began he can bring it to a close by affording the adult Crowley the chance to kill those who offended him, the good reverend concocts a scheme to draw the bad men onto a journey into the Louisiana swamp.  The mission also serves to give Marybeth the chance to recover the bodies of her fallen family members, and – lo and (conveniently) behold – her uncle just happens to be one of the aforementioned tormentors.
 
So, yeah, without beating a dead horse, it’s pretty clear that Hatchet II – for all intents and purposes – is little more than a formula piece.  There’s no room for creativity here – unless, of course, you want to talk about a few new creative kills – and it shows from start to finish.
​

As tends to happen with Horror franchise, that may be enough for casual audiences, the kind of folks who show up knowing full well in advance that A, B, and C will happen in order to pave the way for D, E, and F to then take place, and there will be X number of increasingly bloody murders before all Hell breaks loose in the final reel.  Unlike other genres, a great many terrors both function on and rely on this forced reality, meaning that producers no ago learned how to minimally deliver just enough to whet the proper appetites and deliver said feast.  Yes, some find it bland.  Of course, others find it satisfying.  But the point remains: Hatchet II is – at its core – what the entertainment industry does uniquely well at the cineplex.  It is it’s very own good, bad, and ugly all rolled up in a single film.
 
What I can say is that even though the script doesn’t capitalize on his involvement to any great degree, Todd was nothing short of fabulous doing his duplicitous thing once more.  Reverend Zombie – while initially a bit cartoonish – evolves from Hatchet to Hatchet II, and having a proven commodity like Todd in the role was a big plus to this universe.  Mind you: he – like everyone else – makes some really stupid decisions when running up to face evil in the last reel, but those kinds of flaws are intrinsic to Horror.  No one else but Kane Hodder could (and should) ever inhabit the character of Victor Crowley, and he continues to show why he’s considered one of the very best in the business here.  Funnyman Parry Shen is back as well, playing the twin brother to the incarnation who died in Part I; and – if nothing else – he does more of the same, eeking out a bit of comic relief in the first half of the film before suffering a grim fate once crap hits the fan.  While it would’ve been interesting had Green come up with more than a mission of vengeance for the lead actress, Harris hits her marks capably and even rises to the challenge in the closing moments to serve Crowley the gloriously depraved departure that only he so richly deserves.  As I’ve always been a bit smitten with the actress, dare I suggest that I’d follow her anywhere?
 
Also, Hatchet II waits its sweet time to get to the good stuff.
 
Though I rarely complain about such things, the set-up here stretches on much longer than was absolutely necessary, and the poor pacing weakens an otherwise good second half.  There’s a bit of blood and guts in the flick’s preamble, but viewers have to wait a mild, mind-numbing 50 minutes before the real reason we all bought tickets begins.  It isn’t as if everyone and every moment in here was so central much less pivotal to the plot that Green and company couldn’t have spaced a few of their deaths for entertainment’s sake.  Once our big baddie hits his stride, it is a fairly appreciable body count that, ultimately, saves the day … if you can forgive the irony.
​

Now, without spoiling it, I’ve absolutely no idea how one progresses from the closing moments of Hatchet II to the sequel I’m fully aware came about in 2013.  That last shot was – ahem – pretty final, if you ask me, so I’m at a loss to know just how Crowley might’ve been in any shape to continue this franchise.  (Maybe he, too, had an unmentioned twin brother?)  Thankfully, I have the complete collection on DVD, so I will be making my way into that chapter in the foreseeable future.  At this point, I’m just hoping that it wasn’t all a dream …
 
Hatchet II (2010) was produced by ArieScope Pictures and Dark Sky Films.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Dark Sky Films.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights and sounds to be very good from start-to-finish: it’s clear that they had to recreate a few key locations from the first film for the second, and – sigh – some of the magic was lost in the process as the production details aren’t nearly as interesting in this installment.  If you’re looking for special features?  The disc boasts not one but two commentary tracks – one highlighting the more technical process of creating some key sequences – along with the usual assortment of trailers, images, and whatnot.  It’s a solid collection.
 
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
 
Writer/director Adam Green employs an almost clinical efficiency to sticking precisely to his formula for Horror with Hatchet II (2010); and – for what it’s worth – that simple fact is as much as strength as it is a weakness to this follow-up installment.  In other words, it delivers most likely exactly what audiences expect, a reality that can be as frustrating as it is fulfilling.  Would it hurt to throw the watchers a bone (not literally) and introduce some unanticipated twist?  It’s easy to appreciate the workmanship to the whole fiasco; and once this one finds its groove again (after a 50-minute wait) it certainly delivers.  Yet … I feel empty, much like Crowley’s battered and bloodied skull in the closing moments.  Not a good look … for either of us.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Dark Sky Films provided me with a complimentary Steelbook Blu-ray of Hatchet: The Complete Collection by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​