Blood Oath (2006) is one of the new crop of indie slasher flicks, so you know you’re going to get a thigh-deep heap of “homages” to movies that were forgettable when they originally showed at the drive-in, and characters who are are periodically lobotomized so that they’ll behave as only characters in slasher flicks behave.  It’s hard to measure the success of a movie which aims so low.

The Moonstone
The Moonstone marks our first real foray into a universe in which we will be spending a lot of time as I work my way through this latest round of Netflix Diaries: the Poverty Row thriller. An understanding of what Poverty Row was — if not an actual appreciation for its product — is an important part of any cult film education (and given the way you kids are allowed to make up any damn thing and call it a college major these days, you can probably go PhD in Cult Film Studies or some such nonsense, when you should be spending your time in college learning about Hammurabi, thermodynamics, and beer funnels), because Poverty Row is where the b-movie was born.

Iron Claw The Pirate
In the course of doing my usual rigorous research in preparation for bringing you the most carefully considered review of Iron Claw the Pirate possible, I came upon some information that seemed to suggest that it was the second film in a series of Iron Claw movies. That made sense to me, because Iron Claw the Pirate is a film that seems to start in progress, without any introduction of the characters or ongoing conflicts. However, what makes sense does not always prove to be so–especially in the case of Turkish action cinema–and I later determined that I had misinterpreted that information. In fact, it was Iron Claw the Pirate that was the first film, followed immediately by its sequel, Demir Pence Casuslar Savasi. Still, the reality of the situation makes its own kind of sense, simply because that’s just the way that these movies are. Any amount of exposition or character development would most likely have been seen by the makers of Iron Claw the Pirate as a waste of valuable time that could otherwise have been devoted to fist fights, shootouts, and fleshy women doing exotic dances.

For some reason, it was just one really good movie after another this update cycle.  So naturally, I had to break the streak by watching something produced by David Friedman…

Bummer! (1973), which would be indistinguishable from a 1930’s vicesploitaion movie were it not for all the ugly clothes, ugly hair, and ugly music…

The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane (1976), in which Jodie Foster illuminates the gentler side of Rhoda Penmark…

Marooned (1969), in which the Apollo 13 crisis arrives two years early…

Sisters (1973), in which Margot Kidder sadly does not carry around a big wicker basket…

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954), which blows my mind by causing me to rave about a Disney movie derived from Jules Verne…

and…

Weird Woman (1944), in which a much more deserving novel is adapted in such a way as to provoke no raving whatsoever.

Dark Heroine Muk Lan-Fa
The Jane Bond films, in most cases, were cheap, hastily-made affairs, and The Dark Heroine Muk Lan-fa is no exception. With its monochrome photography and Spartan sets, the film bears as much similarity to the Republic serials of the forties as it does to the spy films of its era, and while watching it, there are times when it’s easy to forget that you’re watching a film made in the mid sixties. This, happily, is remedied by the periodic appearance of odd pop art touches, like the comic book-inspired starburst wipes that take us from one scene to the next, and the cropping up here and there of unmistakably mod pieces of fashion and furniture. Another element that anchors The Dark Heroine Muk Lan-fa firmly in the 1960s is its soundtrack, which is almost entirely pilfered from John Barry’s James Bond film scores — mostly Goldfinger, as far as I can tell.

“On June 10, Sony will release a 2-DVD set called “Icons of Adventure: The Hammer Films Collection Vol. 1”. The set will include THE STRANGLERS OF BOMBAY, THE TERROR OF THE TONGS, PIRATES OF BLOOD RIVER and DEVIL SHIP PIRATES. According to Sony’s publicity site, all four titles will be presented in their original aspect ratios with anamorphic enhancement. All four titles will have audio commentaries (some of them with legendary Hammer screenwriter Jimmy Sangster), and other extras will include original theatrical trailers, the cartoon: “The Merry Mutineers” (1936), Chapter One of the Serial: “The Great Adventures of Captain Kidd” (1951) and the short subject: “Hot Paprika” (1935) starring Andy Clyde. The SRP is $24.96. Note that this is “Vol. 1” of a “Hammer Films Collection.” “

You may think that my review of The Glass Tomb (1955) is simply another in a string of examinations of the American/British noir coproductions of Robert Lippert and Hammer Films.  But no, I have ambitions in this review.  Lofty ones.  It is now my personal mission to add to the lexicon of B-movie enthusiasts the term “shepherd’s pie filmmaking.”

So, my ongoing game of Bad Movie Word Association led me from Richard Jaeckel in a rip-off of Jaws directed by William Girdler to Richard Jaeckel in a rip-off of Willard directed by William Grefé. I was expecting a bit of idiotic fun. Instead I got something horribly akin to a shark snuff film.

 THE JAWS OF DEATH (1976)

HAUSU
Collectively these girls inhabit a world straight out of a seventies Saturday morning cereal commercial, one in which people rise to greet the day with arms outstretched to the sun as cartoon rainbows play across the horizon to the strains of treacly soft rock. As Obayashi presents it, you wouldn’t be at all surprised if one of those freaky psychedelic football mascots from Syd and Marty Kroft’s PuffnStuff or Lidsville were to bound into frame at any moment. Oshare’s life outside of the group, however, is presented a little differently, though in no less cavity-promoting terms. Hers is a world of movie-fuelled romanticism with the kitsch level pushed to belligerent extremes (think Douglas Sirk on eleven): Beyond the balcony of her father’s high-rise flat, a permanent artificial sunset stretches across the sky like a glorious, lurid bruise, and, as we watch Oshare, all of the camera’s means of idealizing dewy young womanhood–gauzy soft focus, halo lighting, fan-blown hair captured in dreamy slow motion–are amped to the level of the grotesque. Taken together, the world that’s presented in the first section of Hausu is one in which a malignant, over-ripe greeting card sentimentality has poisoned the very atmosphere. And, given that, it should come as no surprise that rottenness lurks just around the corner–or, at least, just a short train ride away.

CAPTAIN BLOOD
Watching Flynn in this role, it’s hard to believe this is his first time as a leading man. He handles the role with astounding proficiency. It is impossibly not to cheer for Captain Blood, and the script provides Flynn ample opportunity to deliver stirring speeches about freedom and tyranny, punctuated by scenes of guys firing muskets and cannons and swinging from the rigging of giant sailing ships. Flynn handles his stirring speeches with the same aplomb as he does the action scenes. He is the very definition of roguish charm, and he is assisted by a series of perfect foils, which include the thoroughly loathsome Colonel Bishop and the shifty French pirate Levasseur (played brilliantly by Basil Rathbone). Although it happened somewhat by chance, it seems that, in the end, Captain Blood was constructed purely to turn Errol Flynn into the dashing, swashbuckling heartthrob he became. Recognizing the chance that has fallen into his lap, Flynn does not disappoint.