On this day in 1983 (in Italy), Conquest delivered a dose of theatrical Fantasy to the cinemas.  Directed by Lucio Fulci from a story by Giovanni Di Clemente, Gino Capone, José Antonio de la Loma, and Carlos Vasallo, the film starred Jorge Rivero, Andrea Occhipinti, Violeta Cela, and others. 

According to our friends at IMDB.com, here's the plot summary:

"A young man, armed with a magical bow and arrows, embarks on a mystical journey through a mystical land to rid it of all evil and joins forces with an outlaw to take down an evil witch bent on claiming the magic bow for evil."

-- EZ
​

Ach, folks.  Just ... ach.  This one hurts.

Growing up when I did, I had the unabashed joy of watching a great many television programs that basically sprang to life trying to capture the luster of some big screen property that turned out to be a blockbuster.  For example, 1977's Star Wars paved the way for TV's original incarnation of Battlestar Galactica and even the somewhat campy Buck Rogers In The 25th Century, much in the same way that 1983's epic actioner Blue Thunder served as a inspiration for CBS's small screen counterpart Airwolf.  Naturally, these Boob Tube alternatives couldn't quite compete with what storytellers were doing at the cineplex -- the constraints of broadcast budgets being what they were -- and, yet, a good number of copycats still managed to find life and small(ish) audiences well within the glow of the conventional television set.

Now, I know that the bulk of the readership has likely never even heard of Tales Of The Gold Monkey (1982-1983), but -- for the uninitiated -- the adventure serial was intended to cash in on the box office success of George Lucas and Steven Spielberg's Raiders Of The Lost Ark (1981).  Similarly, Gold Monkey's creator -- the great Donald P. Bellisario -- couldn't match the theatrical clout and intensity behind one of the silver screen's greatest flicks ever (I said what I said); but the showrunner still managed to give those of us who turned in something to look at ... and, yes, that included series regular Sarah Stickney White (as played by the lovely Caitlin O'Heaney0.  She was the small screen equivalent of Indiana Jones' gal-pal Marion Ravenwood; and -- in her capacity as a nightclub singer / American secret agent -- White did what she could to keep tabs on those dastardly forces conspiring against these United States in those fertile years building up to World War II.

Like so many shows that critics dub as knock-offs, Gold Monkey lasted only a single season; but what a fun-filled season it was!  I know, I know, I know ... my sentiments are largely driven by some nostalgia for the days gone by; but Ms. O'Heaney left an impression on me that lasted a few years.  Hers was a talent that I honestly expected might go on to bigger and better things, so I kept my out for her to spring up here or there in some other genre-properties.  While there were a few, nothing quite matched the magic of my initial introduction to her gifts; so I'll just have to consider myself thankful for that.

Sigh.

Word reached the World Wide Web this morning of the lady's passing, and my heart aches over this one.  She truly meant so much to this young viewer, and I'll live forever under her spell.

Our warmest prayers are extended to the family, friends, and fans of Caitlin O'Heaney.

May she rest in peace.

​-- 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 …)
 
Readers, it isn’t often that I finish a feature production and find myself struggling with what to make of it.  More often than not when such a phenomenon does happen – especially when it involves foreign films – my confusion almost always is tied to a lack of understanding of how a particular story may resonate with the fabric of that nation’s history.  Being American – and being fond of American history – I haven’t experienced much enlightenment from abroad with the sole exception of loving their movies (and the occasional television show): an even casual grasp of what any country’s struggles have been tends to smooth out those lumps I may’ve found in a muddled narrative, and that’s definitely the case with 1979’s G.I. Samurai.
 
Directed by Kôsei Saitô from a story by Ryô Hanmura and Toshio Kamata, the tale involves several units of the Japanese Self Defense Force (SDF) who find themselves – for no discernible reason – thrown through a temporal rift back to the Warring States Period, a volatile time wherein the nation endured a great number of civil wars and the like.  Essentially, all of these various clans were jockeying for control of the country; and these modern-day troops under command of ranking officer Yoshiaki Iba (played by Sonny Chiba) are forced to decide whether or not they’ll isolate themselves from society-at-large so as not to negatively impact the unfolding history or to align themselves with the somewhat reigning clan behind Lord Koizumi (Asao Koike).   Koizumi’s ranking warlord – Nagao Kagetora (Isao Natsuyagi) – seems to be a loose cannon, and yet Iba senses an unexplained kinship with the man, so much so that the decision requires very little debate.  When it eventually appears that they’ve no way back to the present day, Iba conscripts those men wishing to stay in the past and fight under the Koizumi banner; and, together, they go about making wartime history.
 
This similar set-up was used in Hollywood only a few months later: 1980’s The Final Countdown saw the USS Nimitz – a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier – thrown back in time to only hours before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, an event that precipitated America’s involvement in World War II.  In this film, the ‘should we or shouldn’t we’ affect to change history remains central to everything that develops; and the boat commanders spend a reasonable amount of time debating the various positions.  Knowing that they can save lives – one of their key tenets to their military service – weighs on their consciences throughout.  Sadly, the film takes the easy way out when – in transit to stop the Japanese fleet – the Nimitz somewhat magically finds the portal again; and the fighters undoubtedly accept that they were never intended to alter past transgressions whatsoever.  Reality isn’t an easy pill to swallow, but they remain soldiers following more of a cosmic responsibility than they do their Constitutional oaths.
 
What’s needed to better understand how this morality works in G.I. Samurai is the fact that these Japanese soldiers aren’t exactly ‘tasked’ with what was perceived as a working military.  Simplifying the great deal of history, I’ll offer briefly that the Japanese nation was prohibited as a consequence of their actions in World War II from having and maintaining an active national military.  Instead, they were eventually allowed to create a national defense force, one that largely required some national catastrophe to be put into service much less see any action.  How must it weigh on the psychology of a trained soldier to know that, functionally, he’ll never see anything effectively resembling combat?  Oh, he’ll be on hand when weather-related calamities unfold; and should a real-life Godzilla ever rise from the ocean depths and march on Tokyo he might get to use all of those nifty weapons in their national arsenal.  But otherwise?  He likely doesn’t feel much like a soldier, certainly not one who might have to rid the world of some treacherous adversary.
 
So it’s in this context that G.I. Samurai both works and resonates with the audience, especially the younger Japanese men and women who were a generation removed from World War II.  Their parents had seen the effects that the resulting treaties have dealt on their nation and people, but their descendants only knew what schools were allowed to teach about the past.  Certainly, they shouldn’t be penalized for the actions that took place decades ago, and they’d largely only seen a slow return to greatness of Japan on the world stage.  Why should they continue paying a price they saw as being paid-in-full?  Wasn’t it time to allow the country to do what it wanted and no longer feel a somewhat imperial oppression from the U.S. and the Allied powers?
 
Set against this backdrop, it’s easy to understand why G.I. Samurai meant so much to its generation.  The story gradually finds its footing as Iba and his ‘good guys’ cull out the negative influences within their own ranks; and a viewer might even hear the celebration when one of the enlisted men is thrilled that he’ll finally be getting his chance to participate in the making of history.  On that level, G.I. Samurai has the same aesthetic and patriotic DNA one might found in American films like The Dirty Dozen (1967), The Devil’s Brigade (1968), or Kelly’s Heroes (1970).  Thematically, where it ends up is probably vastly closer to a feature like, say, Oliver Stone’s Platoon; but – for a brief time – these men relish the chance to take a stand for something even if they’re not entirely certain what they’re standing for in the moment.  Think of it as … masculine desperation.
 
Still, some of the cinematography and the storytelling techniques are obviously a bit dated.  I’m not sure how much money was invested in its special effects, but I can assure you that timeslip of the opening leaves a bit to the imagination.  Precisely what the men are seeing and experiencing is never clearly defined – there’s a hint it might be tied to some astrological event – so take that rather protracted sequence as little more than a contrivance required to get to the story.  There’s also some occasional flashes back to the present – Samurai has a handful of side-stories involving these recruits – but they, too, don’t feel as if they were all that necessary to what director Saitô has to say about men and the wars they’ll fight.  Lastly, there’s also a curious reliance on a contemporary soundtrack – I’m understanding that the studio make a big effort to include pop tracks of the day – and I’m not sure that was the best way to go.  War is hell, either way, but that doesn’t mean its soundtrack must be, too.
 
G.I. Samurai (1979) was produced by Kadokawa Haruki Jimusho and the Toei Company.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been handled by the fine folks at Arrow Films.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I can assure readers that Arrow has spared no expense in delivering perhaps the best sights and sounds available here: with effects work that can be a bit of a detriment in that not a great deal of money was spent to render the – ahem – magical time travel sequence.  (Just grin and bear it.)  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  This being Arrow I’ve got nothing but praise in that respect as there are some new and archival interviews I’d insist are downright mandatory in understanding why Samurai was a box office hit; in fact, the newly-produced audio commentary truly explains the socio-cultural reality of Japan (of the day) and extrapolates (to a degree) on why the film likely struck a chord with young folks who embraced it.  Methinks the hosts have a solid grasp on how even an imperfect film can still perfectly represent a generation; and that alone makes this a picture worth viewing.
 
Recommended.
 
Even though I’ll admit to experiencing a bit of a struggle in coming up with all that much to say about G.I. Samurai (1979), it’s still the kind of flick that deserves to be seen.  Of course, how widely the story – and some uninspired effects, a kinda/sorta hackneyed if not downright goofy set-up, and some cheesy humor – is going to be appreciated will likely depend on the seriousness (or not) the viewer attaches to soldiers finding themselves back in time and actively deciding ‘history be damned, we’re going to fight for ourselves!’  Performances are quite good – Shiba oozes enough toxic masculinity all by himself that ardent feminists are warned to stay away, and Natsuyagi is downright brilliant as the war leader you’d both be a fool (and not) to trust.  Still, it’s occasionally uneven – a bit long in battle sequences – never quite figuring out what it wanted so much to saw about bloodshed as it did the men who partook of all the festivities.
 
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 G.I. Samurai (1979) 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

On this day in 2010 (in the U.S.), The Gainesville Ripper delivered a bloody reception to the silver screen.  Written and directed by Josh Townsend, the film starred Christina Caparoula, Ralph Cahill, Cheryl Kaleda, and others. 

​According to our friends at IMDB.com, here's the plot summary:

"Danny Rolling's serial killings of five college students in 1990 forever changes the college-town of Gainseville, FL."

-- EZ

From Google.com:

The Gainesville Ripper is a 2010 independent horror/crime film directed by Josh Townsend. It dramatizes the real-life 1990 serial killings committed by Danny Rolling, who murdered five college students in Gainesville, Florida. [1, 2, 3]
​
Key details about the movie and the case include:
​

• The Plot: The film focuses on the events leading up to and during the 9-month crime spree that terrorized the University of Florida and Santa Fe College communities.
• The Real Murders: In August 1990, Danny Rolling brutally murdered and mutilated five students (Sonja Larson, Christina Powell, Christa Hoyt, Manuel Taboada, and Tracy Paules). The shocking and gruesome nature of the crimes inspired screenwriter Kevin Williamson to pen the script for the original Scream.
• Controversy: The movie received heavy backlash from local authorities and victims' families. Many criticized the film as exploitative and in poor taste, especially since the director chose to premiere it in Gainesville very close to the 20th anniversary of the tragedy.
• Reception: The film was largely panned by critics and audiences. It was criticized for having a low-budget, amateur feel and for being an exploitative take on a deeply sensitive and tragic local event. [2, 4, 6]

​
You can read more about the film's details on IMDb.

AI responses may include mistakes.

[1] https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/the_gainesville_ripper
[2] https://www.gainesville.com/story/news/2010/08/29/horror-film-on-student-killings-premieres-tonight/31773256007/
[3] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Danny_Rolling
[4] https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0988858/
[5] https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0988858/news/
[6] https://www.imdb.com/de/title/tt0988858/

(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:
“Once a lone bounty hunter, Mandalorian Din Djarin and his apprentice Grogu embark on an exciting new Star Wars adventure.”
 
Yes, I’m part of the generation that grew up watching Star Wars – the original Star Wars – the Star Wars that was conceived by George Lucas and not the Walt Disney Company and Lucasfilm under that tragic reign of Kathleen Kennedy – on the silver screen.  I think it’s important that I establish that reality right up front because – like it or not – it does feed into my overall impressions of the film along with the current state of the franchise.  So if you’re uninterested in what I have to say at this point entirely because of – ahem – the wisdom I’ve gathered over the years, then – in the words of Mark Hamill who came to fame in the guise of Luke Skywalker himself – “Go Force yourself.”
 
However …
 
Unlike a great percentage of the fanboy and fangirl regiments who exist and traffic heavily over the Information Superhighway, I can still admit to the fact that some of what’s happened in that galaxy far, far away since Lucas sold the property to “the white slavers” (his words, not mine) has been good-natured fun.  Though I absolutely loathed what came to pass in Star Wars: Episode VII – The Force Awakens (2015) and Episode IX – The Rise Of Skywalker (2019), I did think that Episode VIII – The Last Jedi minimally possessed a return to theatrical form, meaning that writer/director Rian Johnson grasped an understanding of the visual elements necessary to seriously compete with the likes of what Lucas had achieved before.  Now, his story was thematically all wrong for the universe; and his take on the characters was about as ill-founded as it could’ve been.  But at the very least, Star Wars – for a brief time – felt like a carnival thrill ride again even though the twists and turns lacked the proper Midichlorian Count to make for the spectacle that Luke Skywalker’s return to the silver screen should’ve had.
 
Similarly, when The Mandalorian first premiere (behind a pay wall) on Disney+ (the MouseHouse’s vastly overrated streaming service), I was glad to see some modest signs of life with the franchise.  Granted, some of these signs were fleeting and – ahem – surprisingly short-lived; but Jon Favreau and Dave Filoni had marginally come up with an idea which almost felt like I was being transported once more to the Outer Rim territories.   Yes, the show chiefly relied on ratcheting up the viewership’s fondness for the Original Trilogy what with the endless array of costumes, props, and locations that helped to call up the proper wave of nostalgia; but that’s exactly the kind of sins in entertainment which are forgivable.  “If you build it, people will come,” and I personally thought that – while the Mando show was still largely imperfect – it was an at-times impressive sideshow worth its ticket price.
 
Like so many, I was hugely disappointed when the show morphed into something akin to Bantha poodoo in its third season, an unmitigated disaster of cosmic proportions.  Every bit of goodwill that Favreau and Filoni had earned from a discerning audience was – pardon the expression – absolutely shit on by the two as they delivered something that practically unraveled the substance that compelled us to invest in the show in the first place.  Gone was the heroic male lead; in its place, the creators shoehorned the predictable girl boss whose influence even threatened to steal young Grogu’s attentions right out from under his surrogate father.  Heck, Mando never even seemed like the star of the show any longer (Filoni even suggested he was no longer ‘The Mandalorian’ of the title); and the audience was deluged with bloated mythology filler that sidelined narrative cohesion over pretty visuals.  And … actors Jack Black and Lizzo as royal guest stars in some cartoon world?
 
What were they thinking?
 
Well …
 
It would seem ‘the lack of thinking’ has become the norm as Filoni and Favreau have now pushed their spectacular failure onto the silver screen as The Mandalorian And Grogu has undergone only a name change in the transition from streaming to the cineplex.  To their credit, the two kinda/sorta dumbed it all down even further (if that were possible) by kinda/sorta resetting their world in what’s meant to be a standalone adventure introducing their dynamic duo to what they hope will be a growing audience.  It’s all rather small scale – with no galactic stakes whatsoever – and it sadly goes nowhere that this once beloved franchise has been before, making it about as clinically safe and equally uninteresting motion picture turned out since Walt Disney took over stewardship of the galaxy.
 
With the Rebel Alliance’s victory at Endor (seen in 1983’s Return Of The Jedi), the Galactic Empire has fallen into some disarray.  Instead of maintaining some central grasp of control over the various star systems, rogue Imperial warlords have stepped in – as dictators, chiefly – to continue the royal policy to protect and serve, all at a cost.  In the Outer Rim territories, the New Republic tasks Colonel Ward (played by Sigourney Weaver) to see all of these nefarious evildoers taken down; and she’s conscripted The Mandalorian (voiced by Pedro Pascal) and his Force-sensitive sidekick Grogu to bring ‘em back alive (if at all possible).  In fact, the flick opens with a particularly good set-up as Mando (again, only voiced by Pascal) and his ‘Baby Yoda’ taking down a particularly vile Imperial baddie over the course of several stunt sequences that – taken independently – sense of a return to the old-style motion picture Flash Gordon serial format once championed by Lucas.  (Granted, it makes zero sense why or how anyone conceived of using massive Imperial walkers to scale a mountain with a frozen tundra – for logic’s sake – but who are we to quibble? Isn’t this meant to be fun?)
 
Sadly, the film kinda/sorta falls apart shortly thereafter.  The colonel has set her sights on a new target – Commander Coyne (played by Jonny Coyne) is so wanted and notorious she can’t even provide a location much less a picture (???) – and she sends our glorious twosome off on a quest to rescue Rotta the Hutt (voiced curiously by Jeremy Allen White with absolutely zero inflection whatsoever) and deliver the oversized worm back to his equally oversized worms of an aunt and an uncle.  If this sounds a bit convoluted then rest assured it is: the Hutt twins know the ‘secret’ location of Coyne, and they’re willing to give it up with the return of their nephew.  The truth here is that they secretly wish to kill Rotta so that they can take control of his father Jabba’s criminal enterprise now that he’s been taken out of play by the Rebel Alliance.
 
Well – ahem – the problem herein is that Jabba the Hutt’s criminal enterprise was already taken over by Boba Fett as seen in the oft-maligned Disney+ streaming series, The Book Of Boba Fett, a few years ago.  How is it that the Hutt twins are entirely unaware?  Even more damning, how is it that Filoni and Favreau – the two masterminds behind all of this at Lucasfilm – are equally unaware?  Are they ignoring their own established continuity here, or are they relying on the ignorance of newcomers to simply ask no questions?  Perhaps all that the Hutts desired was a chance to move in on Fett and his minions, and maybe they felt it would be prudent to remove Rotta from the playing field?  But … hasn’t Rotta already removed himself from the playing field by running away and renouncing his – erm – Huttship?  There’s no escaping this massive plot-hole anywhere in this two-hour-plus movie, and that’s really only the beginning of its shoddy foundation.
 
Given the fact that Grogu has already been established as a Force-user, Filoni and Favreau rather conveniently ignore the use of the critter’s powers throughout the picture.  When a simple Force-push could’ve resolved a rather elementary problem, the screenwriters instead have Grogu scaling a wall, crawling through a window, and sneaking through a veritable lion’s den to open a door so that Mando can gain entrance to a facility.  How is it that this big guy – one of the most venerable bounty hunters in all the galaxy – ever got by without the existence of his cute and cuddly companion … especially if he can’t even open a locked door without assistance?  The vigilante’s reputation would easily be questioned by viewers just stumbling into the theater for this premiere adventure; and they’d likely leave wondering how it was that the grown man insisted on taking a proverbial infant into one mortally dangerous situation after another.  Does the man have no decency?  And just who granted him custody?  Surely, there must’ve been someone more paternal available.
 
Unfortunately, there wasn’t; and The Mandalorian And Grogu evolves to the point wherein the most dangerous man in the universe captured by a competing bounty hunter once the Hutt Twins realize they’ve been duped.  With his mortal life in jeopardy, Mando is forced to endure a bit of wholesome torture – and near digestion by a massive dragonsnake elsewhere in the galaxy – while young Grogu joins forces with a puppety clan of mechanics to attempt his father’s rescue.  Not since the days of Gerry Anderson and his 1960’s cult adventure classic Thunderbirds has the silver screen been lit up with so many lifeless marionettes stuttering and puttering their way through oversized set constructs.  And to think: I was maligned by my fraternity brothers for even knowing that the Thunderbirds existed much less came to life (well …) in SuperMarionation.  (Google it: I’ll wait.)
 
As long as I’m going back in time, let me also mention that 1970’s evening television was in its absolute heyday with producers being able to cast some once marquee names in guest appearances in the latest whodunnits.  These former stars and starlets were never asked to do much more than show up, deliver a few lines, and use the breadth of their celebrity to add a bit of clout to festivities.  Largely, that’s what Sigourney Weaver does here, her presence never amounting to more gravitas than if she read lines off of cue cards being held by some intern just off-camera.  Frankly, I’ve eaten oatmeal with more flavor; and the same could be said for Pascal’s stupefyingly dull line-reading on Mando’s behalf even during the heat of conflict.  Practically no one in the Mando movie possesses a sense of urgency; and – so far as I know – that’s a requirement to making even bad schlock like this work.
 
Now, I’ll stop short of stating categorically that the Force is no longer with us.  After all, we’ll always have the Original Trilogy; and that Prequel Trilogy – the one that’s endured its own highs and lows – is looking vastly superior to anything that Disney has even attempted to assembly on its own.  I didn’t hate Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018), and Rogue One (2016) works well to fill a gap no one knew needing filling in the days leading up to A New Hope.  There were also bits and pieces of Star Wars: The Clone Wars and Star Wars: The Bad Batch which I found interesting.  Star Wars Rebels – as much as others enjoy it – just never worked for me; and even though the Kenobi series never really had a chance it still had a familiar face that got me through my grief.  Don’t get me started on just how painful Ahsoka’s first season played out, or you’ll have me tearing the ears off a gundark.
 
But if The Mandalorian And Grogu is meant to represent a path forward for the galaxy far, far away, then the Mouse House and Lucasfilm and anyone else involved in it are going to have to get accustomed to doing it at a creative and profitable loss.
 
This, most certainly, is not the way.

Alas ... only Mildly Recommended ... and even then with severe hesitation.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m thrilled to disclose that I’m beholden to absolutely no one for my review of Star Wars: The Mandalorian And Grogu (2026) as I viewed the picture entirely on my own dime at the theater.

​-- 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:
“Irene Kelly travels through parallel universes, repeatedly killing her daughter's murderer. As she becomes consumed by vengeance, her humanity hangs in the balance.”
 
Over the years, there have been a good number of theatrical releases whose fortunes were shortchanged over the fact that admittedly the studio marketing departments didn’t quite know what to do with them.
 
Perhaps the single greatest example of this Hollywood phenomenon remains 1990’s Tremors.  The Ron Underwood film was the birth of one of Science Fiction’s lesser franchises – while not possessing the narrative clout to compete alongside Star Wars or Star Trek, the property still produced an incredible number of direct-to-video sequels – and remains a small juggernaut to this day.  But at the time of its release, those folks chiefly tasked with creating an advertising strategy for a film that was equal parts Science Fiction, Horror, and Comedy failed to come up with a hook to draw viewers into theaters.  The picture mostly languished in obscurity; and it wasn’t until Tremors was released on home video that – seemingly out of nowhere – audiences embraced it, recommending it to friends and families everywhere.  This ‘little engine that could’ went on to become one of the biggest fan favorites ever; and yet hardly anyone could claim to have seen it on the big screen.
 
Dare I suggest that 2025’s Redux Redux might suffer the same fate?
 
Written and directed by the team of Kevin and Matthew McManus, the film tells the story of Irene Kelly (played by Michaela McManus), a woman who tragically lost her teenage daughter Anna (Grace Van Dien) to serial killer Neville (Jeremy Holm) in some unimaginable act of violence that we’re thankfully never shown.  But in her attempt to process her grief, Irene has tapped into an underground network of technology traffickers who’ve perfected the use of devices which allow users to hop from one parallel universe to the next.  Essentially, she’s committed herself to locating Anna still alive in some other reality, though there’s never any clear explanation as to what she’ll do when and if she finds her daughter living and breathing.
 
Therein lies the central problem with Redux Redux: it’s void of any tangible and/or relatable mission statement.  Naturally, the assumption is that Irene intends to locate a facsimile version of her daughter and perhaps lure her back to her original reality; but without any authentic explanation of the woman’s intent the script instead invests almost entirely in Irene slaughtering every iteration of Neville she can.  She shoots him.  She cuts his throat.  She suffocates him.  Instead of offering up a theory as to why our heroine never simply arrives in a new continuum and seeks out Anna, the McManus’s are intent on exploring the gratuitous lengths Irene is willing to travel to extract a personal vengeance.  Such glorification might be understandable for a time, but it grows a bit tiresome when that appears all the woman’s interests could be.
 
Of course, there’s another variable which gets introduced that alters Irene’s trajectory: on one trip, our vigilante discovers Mia (Stella Marcus), the next victim in Neville’s private killing spree who hasn’t yet succumbed to her injuries.  By freeing the young woman and attempting to return her home, Irene slowly begins to realize just how much of her humanity she’s sacrificed on her own vendetta.  This single act of mercy puts her in the unique position of questioning why she’s done all that she has; and although she’s not yet willing to give it all up and return home to live out her days in peace Irene discovers that there’s still the capacity to care for someone or something new – i.e. Mia – which also might help her come to terms with her untethered anger.
 
Now, none of this is handled with any hugely significant scenes.  The McManus’ largely use their screen time propulsively, going from one tense sequence to another.  The action does slow down a bit to allow for Mia’s introduction and the late-breaking development involving Irene’s world-hopping machine to blow its power source; but a great deal of Redux Redux maintains a fast space.  That’s a shame because, frankly, I thought the actioner worked better when it strayed into quieter and gentler territory.  It may not perfectly handle everything it introduces, but Redux Redux still works as a modest character study for its leading lady.
 
Still, I can’t help but wonder how an advertiser’s inability to market the picture may’ve affected its box office potential.  I recall it playing briefly in theaters near me; and the scuttlebutt I’ve read regarding it online strongly suggests that it’s a time travel thriller even though nothing could quite be further from the truth.  While there is a small element of time to the plot, the truth is that this is a picture entirely invested in the theory of multiple worlds: anyone showing up thinking that Irene was traveling back in time to prevent the murder of her child might’ve been a bit disappointed with what unfolded as nothing like that ever takes place.
 
What there is is a pretty compelling story of how one woman chose to deal with her heartache.  Granted, she could’ve had a better mission statement – or, minimally, something explaining what it is she hoped to accomplish as a long-term provision to her game plan – and I’m left a bit at a loss as to make of the film’s closing scenes.  Did Irene finally find peace?  Or did she realize that perhaps the peace she sought was no longer attainable?  I’m never one who likes to make up my mind about another’s intended takeaway; and I would’ve preferred a bit more closure than what the McManus’s provide.
 
But … maybe that’s the point.
 
Redux Redux (2025) was produced by Mothership Motion Pictures.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Saban Films.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I can still assure readers that the provided sights and sounds are quite good throughout: there’s a limited amount of (mostly) practical effects that work quite well, adding to the general mystique of the world-hopping process.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  Alas … not a single one … and I would’ve liked something.
 
Recommended.
 
For those really interested in the mechanics of film advertising, I find it important to stress that Redux Redux is most certainly not a time travel flick as a great many outlets have spoken about it online.  What the McManus brothers have attempted here is to bring to life a multiverse of Earths – each with minor differences to one another (as opposed to what Marvel and other properties have done) – and I can’t help but wonder if the preponderance of online chatter suggesting this is a time travel story resulted in some confusion that may’ve hurt its box office potential.  That fact aside, what remains is a reasonably heartfelt quest of one woman seeking a kind of spiritual closure to what’s missing from her life.  It’s well-told and competently delivered … and yet it still feels a bit flat with its resolution.  This isn’t to suggest that it doesn’t work: rather, it’s only to say that the finale didn’t mean as much to me as it might to others.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Saban Films (via Allied Vaughn) provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Redux Redux (2025) 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 character.  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:
“The cop test pilot for an experimental police helicopter learns the sinister implications of the new vehicle.”
 
On the 2006-produced commentary track for Blue Thunder, director John Badham laments his film largely being considered as ‘science fiction.’  His argument to those who considered the super-high-tech aerial assault vehicle a vision of tomorrow was the fact that all of the technology on display in the picture was both fully available and in use at the time of the flick’s theatrical release, nullifying the central premise of the helicopter being some ‘flight of fancy’ (snicker snicker).  The truth remains, however, that the general viewing public – along with the cadre of critics employed by reputable organizations of their time – didn’t know that nor very likely had access to the same level of information; so the likelihood that they saw this thunderous machine as some instrument of the near-future likely never impacted the film’s reception one way or the other.
 
To me, Blue Thunder capably represented another addition to a relatively newly-established sub-genre of Science Fiction: ‘Tech Noir’ was still a year away from being coined as a kinda/sorta aesthetic to be watched on the silver screen (his 1984 vision The Terminator serving as the prime source), but Thunder – alongside such other entries as George Lucas’s THX 1138 (1971), Donald Cammell’s Demon Seed (1977), and Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner (1982) – showed that storytellers were fascinated with the crossroads wherein human abilities and technology intersect.  In these universes, machines were telling us which drugs to take.  A.I. was already flirting with its own ideas of conception.  Even intimate companionship was no longer limited to merely flesh on flesh.  Into this reality, a wartime aircraft – not yet with its own mind – was being tested as the next phase for law and order; so I believe that Thunder’s glance into the very-near-future definitely fueled dark fears of what the future could hold.
 
LA police helicopter pilot Frank Murphy (played by Roy Scheider) and his partner Richard Lymangood (Daniel Stern) find themselves tasked with flying test runs of the military-style aircraft in the skies of California, a vehicle primed as a means of crowd control for the city’s forthcoming sponsorship of the Summer Olympics.  Slowly, the two realize that there’s an insidious potential for Blue Thunder to be put to widespread use (and abuse) by the machine’s government handlers, including U.S. Army Colonel F.E. Cochrane (Malcolm McDowell).  Murphy and Lymangood gather evidence suggesting the movers and shakers were behind the assassination of a local government official – a development that leads to Lymangood’s untimely death – leaving our hero with no other choice but to steal Blue Thunder from the authorities in order to place the program in certain jeopardy.
 
Badham’s direction is solid throughout the film, bridging a great number of smaller and quieter scenes of Murphy’s introspective moments (he’s mildly obsessed with maintaining active control over his senses, a phobia which gets demonstrated several times with a stop watch) to some of the finest aerial stunt photography captured on film.  There are even a few chase sequences on the ground – Murphy’s squeeze Kate (Candy Clark) trying to outsmart the police; Lymangood’s flight from his assassins; etc. – which work chiefly because the director grounds them more in realism as opposed to getting lost in theatrical technique.  Once the picture sets the stakes in the first half, everything shifts into high gear; and Badham never lets up until Thunder’s closing scene, a vignette wherein Murphy is forced to do the only thing he can to keep technology from falling into the wrong hands.  As a man who constantly questions what a breakdown would mean to his sanity, his choice demonstrates that he's finally no longer fearful of the consequences.
 
If there’s any weakness to the Oscar-nominated flick, then I’d have to point fingers at McDowell’s casting.  Without going into a full autopsy as to what works and what doesn’t, I’ll simply leave it at the man – while incredibly talented – never felt as if he was giving his best work here.  His performance vacillates between wry and cynical, mostly; and he never quite musters the menace his supposedly decorated military veteran hints at.  Now, the supplemental materials go to great length to underscore that the actor was frightened to death of flying; knowing that, it’s easy to, say, give him a bit of breathing room for a few small inconsistencies with his work.  Still, an actor is paid to act; and I just never felt that he effortlessly imbued Col. Cochrane as anything more than a government shill who found himself in the right place at the right time to capitalize on a good career opportunity.
 
Blue Thunder (1983) was produced by Columbia Pictures and Rastar 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 can assure readers that the disk boasts the highest quality sights and sounds: the limitations of night-time filming being what they are, some may still find a few sequences a bit difficult to see.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The release boasts a few carryover bits – i.e. a 2006 audio commentary and whatnot – along with a few newly-produced extras that are nice.  The interview with actor McDowell is quite good – frankly, I don’t think I’d ever heard him speak on the project, so it was informative – so fans should be pleased generally.
 
Highest Recommendation Possible.
 
Even decades later, Blue Thunder (1983) remains a prescient story about the dangers of both unchecked authority and technology.  I’ve always considered it one of those rare ‘perfect films’ which manages to entertain and educate viewers without any measure of political drum-beating in the background, leaving its message accessible and debatable by anyone who discovers it.  Scheider is brilliant as its flawed leading man who fears the loss of his own humanity not so much under control of the state as he does the unstoppable progress of growing old.
 
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 Blue Thunder (1983) 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

On this day in 2009 (in the U.S.), Ghost Month (aka The Offerings) enjoyed its big screen debut.  Written and directed by Danny Draven, the film starred Marina Resa, Toonyun, Akiko Shima, and others. 

​According to our friends at IMDB.com, here's the plot summary:

"A housekeeper drawn into a terrifying world of vengeful apparitions. According to the Chinese calendar, the seventh month of every year marks the time when the spirits of the dead break free from the gates of hell to mix among the mortals."

-- EZ

From Google.com:

​Ghost Month (also known as The Offerings) is a 2009 American independent horror film directed by Danny Draven.

The Plot

Fleeing her abusive ex-boyfriend, a young woman named Alyssa takes a job as a housekeeper for a wealthy Chinese family in a secluded desert home. Her arrival coincides with the seventh month of the Chinese calendar, a sacred period where the gates of hell open and restless spirits are allowed to roam the mortal realm. Alyssa’s employers perform strict nightly rituals to appease the dead and warn her of taboos—such as never whistling or turning around if someone calls her name. When she accidentally disturbs sacred offerings, she begins experiencing terrifying visions and uncovers the dark mystery surrounding the family's missing former housekeeper.

Key Details

• Release Date: The film was released on May 26, 2009.
• Director: Danny Draven.
• Starring: Marina Resa (as Alyssa), Shirley To (as Miss Wu), and Akiko Shima (as Aunt Chen).
• Production: Produced by Cosmic Creations and Darkworld Pictures, and distributed by Barnholtz Entertainment.