The Trail (Jui gwai chat hung) (1983)

Michael Hui produced and co-wrote The Trail (Jui gwai chat hung) (1983) with director Ronny Yu. The Trail is a film with three strong elements: adventure, comedy, and horror; and the film is also an offhanded morality tale, which is pretty cool, too.
Set in 1922 in the Xiangxi province in China, Kent Cheng plays a Taoist priest who, along with his assistant, played by Ricky Hui, is leading a group of corpses to their burial grounds. (All gweilo who are versed in Hong Kong horror cinema are familiar with the image of the Taoist priest leading a group of corpses. These corpses' main mode of locomotion is "hopping." They are under the control of the Taoist priest who rings a bell to lead them and uses charms/talismans to control them.) This is, however, a front. Cheng, as the Captain, is actually leading a group of opium smugglers. Those corpses are Cheng and Hui's comrades, played by genre stalwarts such as Chung Fat (who also serves as co-stunt coordinator) and Anthony Chan, for example. They move from town to town within the province, not collecting corpses and performing religious rites but moving product. The crew makes a stop in a small town which is controlled economically by a lecherous and iron-fisted businessman, played by Miu Tin. He lusts after the town's pretty singer (Tsui Siu Ling). Miu Tin's character kills the singer's husband in order to have sex with her. For a large sum of money, Miu Tin gives the husband's corpse to Cheng and Hui, to lead out of town, away from prying eyes...
After a skirmish with some bandits, while en route to another town, Cheng, Hui and crew lose the corpse in a pit of quicksand. "Oh, well" is the consensus of the group. At a layover at an inn, later that evening, one of the crew is killed. The perpetrator is the corpse of the singer's husband, back from the grave for revenge.
Nothing about The Trail is over-the-top. It's a rare film, because it's energetic in its pacing yet low-key in its humor and tone. When Cheng, Hui and crew realize that the corpse is reeking havoc near the local village, they decide to subdue the creature (with Taoist magic and good old-fashioned ingenuity). Yu presents two fantastic episodes, one in an abandoned and ruined temple and the other in some ancient catacombs. The set design, by the way, is superb. Yu, one of the best visual directors currently working today, establishes the temple as an ominous and eerie location with a single composition. Within the temple, he uses shadows and off-kilter compositions to show the monster. Intuitively, one would think that the production is hiding poor special effects with such camera work, but Yu's style appears organic and artistic. Likewise, the jokes are subtle but by no means are the jokes small: nearly every punch line is dangerously close to a character's death.
The primary reason that Cheng, Hui and crew decide to subdue the walking corpse is not because it's the right thing to do (like preventing more deaths) but rather because the walking corpse will hurt their credibility. If word gets out that they lost a corpse, then they will become suspect and their smuggling operation will cease. As The Trail progresses, the seemingly small task of leading a corpse to burial becomes monumentally and drastically hazardous. By no means is The Trail didactic (the talent involved is too good), but by the end of the film, it's quite obvious that exploiting the spiritual world for material gain is a losing proposition.
The Trail (Jui gwai chat hung) (1983) is a fantastic film for fans of any of the participants or for fans of old school and really cool Hong Kong cinema.

La maldición de la bestia (Night of the Howling Beast) (1975)

La maldición de la bestia (Night of the Howling Beast) (1975) is not one of my favorite Paul Naschy films. Naschy writes that La maldición de la bestia is "[a] comic-strip brought to the screen; with the Wolf Man, Tartars, the Yeti, action, the ever-present curse of the werewolf, and the Tibetan flower which frees Waldemar from his curse. In short, a film that I find very amusing." (from "Filmography," by Paul Naschy, Videooze, No. 6/7, edited by Bob Sargent, Alexandria, VA, Fall 1994, p. 33.) "Amusing" is a perfect word to describe this production. La maldición de la bestia has its strengths but it's overshadowed by even stronger flaws. Here's a quick set-up for the plot:

Waldemar Daninsky (Naschy) is summoned by Professor Lacombe (Castillo Escalona) to accompany him and his daughter, Sylvia (Grace Mills) on an expedition to the Himalayas to find the mythical Yeti. Daninsky agrees to help, as he is a prominent anthropologist and adventurer. The expedition arrives in Nepal and assembles a local crew, but the navigable trail into the mountains has been snowed in. Daninsky agrees to take a more treacherous path into the mountains for the expedition to follow later. Unfortunately, Daninsky gets lost on his way, and the expedition goes to look for him. The funky stuff happens next.

One of the key characteristics of all successful Paul Naschy cinema is a strong female performance, buttressed by a focal plot centered around her and Naschy. For example, in La noche de Walpurgis (The Werewolf vs. The Vampire Woman) (1970), the main plot involves Daninsky attempting to lift his werewolf curse with the help of Elvira, played by Gaby Fuchs. The secondary plot line involved Ms. Patty Shepard’s vampire queen and the havoc that she was reeking across the region. In La maldición de la bestia, the adventure plot line, involving the expedition, the bandits, the Yeti, and so on, is focal; and the curse plot line, involving Waldemar and Sylvia, is collateral. Naschy, who pens the screenplay for La maldición, reverses his successful formula, and the finished film suffers as a result. The adventure plot line grows tired quickly and it doesn’t involve a strong female presence (or performance).

In addition, one of the other key characteristics of successful Paul Naschy cinema is a real artistic command of the fantastique by the director. Directors who have worked with Naschy such as León Klimovsky, Carlos Aured, and Javier Aguirre, for example, were all adept at creating fantastic images, atmosphere, and settings. The director of La maldición, Miguel Iglesias, is not capable of creating the rollicking fun and enthusiasm of Naschy’s screenplay nor creating a film that in any way looks interesting. Iglesias is certainly competent but lacks any artistic flare. Music is sparse. Any energy in the film comes from the performers.
The first act exposition moves swiftly in La maldición de la bestia, and the first act concludes with one of the more audacious sequences in the film. Tired, hungry, and on the verge of death, Waldemar wanders into a cave which houses two young attractive priestesses who worship an evil deity. They nurse Waldemar back to full health and then engage in some awkward sex with him. When Waldemar is able to walk again, he wanders further into the cave and witnesses the two priestesses feasting on flesh like two ravenous animals. Repulsed, Waldemar decides that it is time to split. He is attacked by one priestess who reveals that she has vampiric powers! Waldemar stakes her before she bites. The second priestess reveals she has lupine powers and nibbles on Naschy. Her bite results in the Wolf Man curse upon Daninsky. In more adept hands, this sequence would have been classic Spanish horror. In Iglesias’s hands, the sequence is pale. A lot of its life blood comes from its performers.
Save Naschy’s Wolf Man attacks in the second act of La maldición, the film becomes extraordinarily boring with the plot line involving the expedition besieged by bandits. The final act sees the introduction of sexy Wandesa (Silvia Solar), an evil alchemist in the midst of the bandits who forces Daninsky to bow to her will or see the death of his friends! In addition, the final act is the most action-packed. Naschy, in non-werewolf form, goes hand-to-hand with the big bandit, Sekkar Khan (Luis Induni) in an excellent fight sequence. Don’t forget the Yeti. Please don’t forget the Yeti. If the viewer can labor through the main narrative, then he/she will certainly be rewarded with a few strong episodes in La maldición de la bestia.
Paul Naschy won the Silver Carnation Award for Best Actor at the International Cinefantastique Film Festival in Sitges in 1975 for his performance in La maldición. (from Memoirs of a Wolfman by Paul Naschy, translated by Mike Hodges, Midnight Marquee Press, Baltimore, MD, 2000, p. 244.) A must see for Waldemar Daninsky fans and for Paul Naschy completists.

Una libélula para cada muerto (A Dragonfly for Each Corpse) (1973)

If the title didn't influence you, Una libélula para cada muerto (A Dragonfly for Each Corpse) (1973), then Paul Naschy, who wrote and stars in the film, was doing something wrong. Naschy writes, "I also appeared in a giallo style thriller called Una libélula para cada muerto (1973), with Erika Blanc. It was shot mainly on location in Milan by León Klimovsky and I think it turned out to be a fairly decent detective story. I enjoyed playing the exuberant Italian police inspector Paolo Scaporella." (from Memoirs of a Wolfman by Paul Naschy, translated by Mike Hodges, Midnight Marquee Press, Baltimore, MD, 2000, p. 121) These scant words are about all Naschy has to say about this production in his autobiography, and this is a shame. Despite the fact that I've had a real Naschy itch lately (rimshot), Una libélula para cada muerto (A Dragonfly for Each Corpse) is a real showcase for Erika Blanc.
Una libélula para cada muerto begins with a young man going to a clandestine location to purchase some narcotics. He proceeds to his home and enjoys his narcotics. An uninvited guest enters his home (while the camera obscures his identity) wearing black gloves. He kills the young man and places a replica dragonfly near his corpse. Inspector Paolo Scaporella (Naschy) is assigned the case by his superior. More murders continue and more corpses show up with the signature dragonfly near his/her corpse. Is the killer part of the “underworld,” preying upon the drug addicts and prostitutes? Is the killer a kinky sadist who enjoys killing “deviant” people, because the killer is a deviant also? Or is the killer from high society, someone from Scarporella and his girlfriend’s, Silvana (Blanc) circle of friends? Cue dramatic music.

Three of the most obvious superficial qualities of a giallo film are 1) black gloves, 2) overt sexuality (read, female nudity), and 3) the killer must suffer from a psychological affliction resulting from a childhood trauma. Typically, this childhood trauma involves the killer witnessing the murder of someone in a sexual situation. Armed with this knowledge, anyone can make a film which could be termed “a giallo.” It seems Naschy, when he penned the script for Una libélula para cada muerto, knew the motifs and labored to work them in to his script. Too much labor in making this film a giallo ends up making this film too contrived and too rigid in my opinion. However, there is much to love in Una libélula para cada muerto for prospective viewers.

The sequence which introduces Blanc’s character to viewer is precious. Naschy is in the kitchen and cooking pasta, chomping on his cigar and mean-mugging for the camera. Gorgeous Blanc strolls into the kitchen and chides Naschy’s character for his poor cooking habits. The two actors have an immediate chemistry, and the inclusion of this domestic scene in the film goes a long way towards establishing an intimacy between Scarporella and his girlfriend, Silvana. Scarporella shares all the details about the “dragonfly” case with Silvana and seeks her input. I initially thought with Naschy and Blanc’s first few scenes together that Una libélula para cada muerto would have the two as an investigative team who would solve the murders together. Given their chemistry together and Erika Blanc’s amazing charisma, I thought Una libélula para cada muerto had the potential to be one of Paul Naschy’s finest moments in cinema. While Blanc’s Silvana is integral to solving the mystery, Naschy wrote the script in a wholly perfunctory manner and Una libélula para cada muerto plays out like a perfunctory giallo. Blanc’s character stays at home while Naschy’s inspector character hits the streets.

Naschy went out of his way to establish a credible “underworld” to host a class of victims for his killer. In the English dub of the print that I viewed, the first victim is referred to as a “professional drug addict.” Really, a professional? So is there an amateur class which one must work up through? In another murder sequence, the killer enters the apartment of some young people who are passed out about the floor and furniture. A nude female is passed out on the floor with her arm draped upon a nude young man while another young man in his briefs sleeps in a sofa chair. Clearly, with this adept character positioning, these characters have engaged in promiscuous sex with multiple partners while indulging with mind-altering substances. These sequences are too paint-by-numbers for me and there is too many of them to make Una libélula para cada muerto not worth revisiting.

Klimovsky includes some striking compositions. For example, in one a burlesque dancer rests in a coffin while eating a green apple. Without a context, this composition makes no sense (and is interesting) but with a context, this scene becomes as perfunctory as the rest of the film. All of the scenes with Erika Blanc are amazing. Completely radiant. One of my favorite sequences occurs after Scaporella and Silvana learn that one of their friends has been murdered. Blanc sits in bed, completely nude, staring at photos (which she believes are relevant to the mystery). Scaporella comes in saddened by his friend’s death and the poor state of his investigation but becomes aroused at the sight of his girlfriend. In a bout of physical intimacy, these two can take comfort in each other. It’s an endearing sequence. As I’ve said, the two have a strong chemistry, and it should have been capitalized upon in the film.

Finally, Una libélula para cada muerto is the second film of my recent memory where Naschy is bathed by a beautiful woman. I’m totally jealous. It is very good, sometimes, to be both the screenwriter and the leading actor.
Una libélula para cada muerto is for Paul Naschy completists and Erika Blanc enthusiasts.

El gran amor del conde Drácula (Count Dracula's Great Love) (1972)

"For this Gothic tale," writes Paul Naschy, "I transformed the terrifying Transylvanian Count into a Romantic vampire who destroys himself for the love of a beautiful woman." (from Memoirs of a Wolfman by Paul Naschy [hereinafter, MW], translated by Mike Hodges, Midnight Marquee Press, Baltimore, MD, 2000, p. 111) Naschy writes that El gran amor del conde Drácula (Count Dracula's Great Love) (1972) is "[a] claustrophobic film where, for the first time in the history of cinema, Dracula actually falls in love. His love, which is greater than even his will to survive, ends in his self-destruction. This is the central idea of the film." (from "Filmography," by Paul Naschy, Videooze, No. 6/7, edited by Bob Sargent, Alexandria, VA, Fall 1994, p. 27; hereinafter, VO)
El gran amor del conde Drácula is an unofficial Waledmar Daninsky film. Naschy, who penned the script with director Javier Aguirre and Alberto S. Insúa, transforms his most successful character into the Count. One of the aspects which Naschy found so appealing about the werewolf character (very obvious in La noche de Walpurgis) is the inherent tragedy of his monster's condition: one character with two consciousnesses: one, a normal man attempting to live a normal life, and two, a ravenous and ferocious creature who appears involuntarily, bent upon killing the innocent. While Naschy's characterization is a little clunky in its transition, I have to admit, Naschy successfully makes Dracula a dual character...and a tragic one, as well.
Four ladies are on a coach accompanying Imre Polvi (Víctor Alcázar). The group travels through the Borgo Pass where, as Imre notes to the ladies, Count Dracula, the notorious vampire, was successfully subdued by Dr. Van Helsing. He notes also that there is an abandoned sanatorium, located on a nearby hill. It was recently purchased by Dr. Wendell Marlow (Naschy). As soon as Imre completes the film's exposition, the coach loses a wheel. Imre and Marlene (Ingrid Garbo) go and look for help. Senta (Rosanna Yanni), Karen (Haydée Politoff), and Elke (Mirta Miller) remain with coach and witness the coachman's death--a horse kick crushes his skull! Imre and the ladies have no other choice but to head to the sanatorium and hope Dr. Marlow is there. He is. SPOILERS ahead.
Naschy doesn't appear as Count Dracula until almost the third act. It's quite obvious when he makes the transformation--he dons the stereotypical Dracula outfit, complete with the slick-backed hair. Naschy writes, "It has been said that my physique wasn't suited to the role of Dracula. But I think what worked against me was merely the stereotypical image of Dracula, because according to legend wasn't Dracula able to convert himself into whatever he wished?" (VO, p. 27) It doesn't appear, however, Naschy did much to fight that stereotype. Nonetheless, for the first two thirds of El gran amor del conde Drácula, Naschy is Dr. Marlow, hospitable host to his guests and hero to the ladies. How is he the hero? Imre and most of the ladies are stalked by a delivery driver, now a vampire, who was attacked by Dracula in the film's opening minutes. He's roaming around the castle and making attacks at night. Naschy as Marlow successfully subdues him on more than one occasion (and saves a female character), eventually he stakes the man. I'm fairly absent-minded when I watch movies, but it is hard to forget who turned this man into a vampire.
Another interesting sequence occurs after Elke is turned into a vampire. In one of the signature slo-mo sequences, Elke floats down the hall and encounters the delivery man-cum-vampire in the catacombs. Elke attacks the man and quickly gives up and runs away. The inclusion of this sequence, besides looking really cool, is to establish the newly-turned vampires as feral creatures, lacking reason. The vampires attack anyone (or anything) that moves. This is important exposition for Naschy's character for when he turns into Count Dracula. Like the werewolf, the viewer needs to know that Dracula is a monster, capable of committing horrible acts upon innocent victims. By the way, the ridiculous English-language voice over hammers this point home. C'est la vie.

Dr. Marlow fully becomes Count Dracula when he finds a virgin who, by her own free will, expresses her love for Dracula and gives her blood to Dracula's daughter, the Countess. Of course, one of the ladies fits the bill and does fall in love with Dr. Marlow. I love this complex ritual, but it's wholly not needed for the plot. It's only needed for Naschy's character. When Dr. Marlow decides to have sex with one of the ladies, the English-language narration reminds the viewer that Dracula needs a virgin to complete the ritual. Brilliant. I don't know why I needed to know this information during this specific scene, but thank you for letting me know.
Besides Naschy being cleverly deceptive with his characterization, El gran amor del conde Drácula is quite the entertaining exploitation film with quite a few flourishes. The third act really lets its vampires go. In one scene, an elderly farmer gets his leg caught in a hunter’s trap. He begs for help only to have Naschy’s Dracula emerge from the shadows to overtake him. (It’s doubly funny, because Dr. Marlow is “an avid hunter” who spends most of the daytime, setting his traps.) The imagery of the female vampires is very sensual. Aguirre exhibits quite a bit of relish with his camera. They look stunning in slow-motion, almost floating towards the frame.

“I look back on the film with melancholy,” writes Naschy. (MW, p. 112) Several accidents and “mishaps” happened on the set of El gran amor del conde Drácula, as well as Naschy not getting along with his leading lady, Haydée Politoff (MW, p. 111) Despite his memories towards the production, Naschy writes that, “El gran amor del conde Drácula is a little gem.” (VO, p.27) I get tremendous joy out of all of Paul Naschy’s cinema, but I especially admire El gran amor del conde Drácula. Instead of making an imitation of one of the more successful Hammer films or simply filming again Bram Stoker’s novel, Naschy wrote and performed in a Dracula film which adapted to him. It’s obvious but it’s important to note: El gran amor del conde Drácula is remembered today as a Paul Naschy film, not simply another vampire film. It’s a perfect introduction to Paul Naschy or as a celebration of the man’s work.

La noche de Walpurgis (The Werewolf vs. The Vampire Woman) (1970)

"Despite my reservations," writes Paul Naschy, "La noche de Walpurgis was a worldwide box-office sensation and went on to become a movie legend and a genuine social phenomenon...This modest production marked the high point of Spanish horror fantasy and revitalized the genre throughout the world." (from Memoirs of a Wolfman by Paul Naschy [hereinafter, MW], translated by Mike Hodges, Midnight Marquee Press, Baltimore, MD, 2000, p. 107) As for this Naschy classic, La noche de Walpurgis (The Werewolf vs. The Vampire Woman) (1970), it would appear that we have the Germans to thank. Naschy writes:

"After the success of La marca del hombre lobo, the Germans decided to do another werewolf picture. They contacted Alberto Platar, the producer who had purchased Los monstruos del terror, for the purpose of doing another co-production. Platar had the idea of using another actor to play the Wolf Man. When he proposed this to the Germans they wouldn't hear of it...if Paul Naschy wasn't playing the role of the Wolf Man, they weren't making the film. Naturally, Platar had to change his mind and I was the protagonist." (from "Filmography," by Paul Naschy, Videooze, No. 6/7, edited by Bob Sargent, Alexandria, VA, Fall 1994, p. 24; hereinafter, VO)

Two young women, Elvira (Gaby Fuchs) and Genevieve (Barbara Capell) are traveling through the French countryside. They are searching for the tomb of the Countess Wandesa Dárvula de Nadasdy (Patty Shepard) in order to complete their scholastic essay. They become lost and encounter Mr. Waldemar Daninsky (Naschy) who invites the two ladies into his secluded home. Daninsky agrees to help the young ladies find their tomb, as Daninsky is looking for the crypt, also. The tomb houses a silver cross, which is, according to legend, piercing the heart of the Countess, keeping her vampiric soul at rest. Daninsky believes the silver cross can effectively end the werewolf’s curse, if plunged into the werewolf’s heart by someone who loves him on a full moon...

La noche de Walpurgis is an effective and beautiful fantastic film. Its screenplay, penned by Naschy (under his real name Jacinto Molina) and Hans Munkel, is a fairy tale. There’s innocence, tragedy, love, violence, death, hope, coincidence, and the supernatural, for example. Fantastic cinema is wholly unique; and if fantastic cinema didn’t die with Paul Naschy, then it most certainly did with the death of Jean Rollin.

One of the wonderful aspects of fantastic cinema is the use of slow motion, often creating ethereal and dream-like sequences. Naschy writes, “The film had the characteristic ups and downs of León Klimovsky, but I believe that the positive elements stood out above the errors or flaws it might have had. One of those positive elements is the way in which it treated the world of the vampires; I think the movement of vampires in slow motion is quite successful.” (VO, p. 24) Klimovsky is successfully able to channel the vibe that the vampires exist out-of-time. It’s as if they are real yet not real. In addition, they provide an excellent foil to Naschy’s quick and intense wolf man attacks. When the characters of the English-language title meet, Klimovsky mixes the two styles so well that it appears seamless.

La noche has the most simple of narratives. It’s a story where the strength comes from the images. Exposition, especially when it comes with dialogue, is especially laborious and cumbersome. The narrative of La noche obviously meant something to Naschy, as he penned the script, but I believe it meant little to any of the other participants. In an interesting yet odd touch, the performer who receives the best treatment with Klimovsky’s camera is an actress in a supporting role, Barbara Capell as Genevieve.

SPOILERS

Despite Gaby Fuchs as Elvira becoming Naschy’s love interest in the film and Patty Shepard’s performance as the main antagonist, Capell receives the juiciest close-ups and dominates most frames. Unsurprisingly, Genevieve is attacked and becomes a vampire by the Countess. Surprisingly, it is Genevieve who gets to make two vampire seductions solo; and when Genevieve attacks with the Countess, it is Genevieve who takes central notice, as Shepard’s character wears a black veil which covers her face for the overwhelming majority of her performance.

END SPOILERS

Naschy notes that Patty Shepard, as the Countess, “in the beginning didn’t want to do the film (VO, p. 24)” and later “regretted having accepted the role (MW, p.107).” If I had to speculate as to why, I can understand Ms. Shepard’s regret. As noted, her character has little dialogue and shows almost no emotion. In addition, her face is almost completely obscured by a black veil for almost the entirety of La noche. Patty Shepard is undeniably a gorgeous woman and a talented actress (see El Monte de las brujas (1972) as clear evidence of this statement). As a visual motif, the look of the Countess is sometimes effective, but overall, not utilizing Shepard in her role is a missed opportunity.

La noche de Walpurgis is primal and is essential fantastic cinema. This film is one of my favorites starring Paul Naschy. The BCI Eclipse DVD is a must-have.

Kiss Kiss... Bang Bang (1966)

I've been hunting for this film for years, despite not having an affinity for the spy genre. In my opinion, this is a genre dominated by a character whose initials are three numbers and who introduces himself by his last name, then his first name, and then his last name, again. I'm a huge fan of super-sexy double agents and super-cool spy gadgets, but in all truthfulness, it's hard for me to get excited about this cinema. Kiss Kiss... Bang Bang (1966) has been recently released on DVD by essential DVD label, Wild East, in a double feature with Alive or Preferably Dead (Vivi o, preferibilmente, morti) (1969). Both star Giuliano Gemma and both are directed by Duccio Tessari. Kiss Kiss, in particular, reunites many of the participants from two Euro-Western masterpieces, A Pistol for Ringo (Una pistola per Ringo) (1965) and The Return of Ringo (Il ritorno di Ringo) (1965): director Duccio Tessari, actors Giuliano Gemma, Nieves Navarro, and Lorella De Luca, for example, producers Luciano Ercoli and Alberto Pugliese, and writer Fernando di Leo (who pens Kiss Kiss with Tessari and Bruno Corbucci). These participants are also why I've always wanted to see Kiss Kiss. Wild East has made it possible. Kiss Kiss... Bang Bang, finally, isn't just a spy film...it's a spoof.
Kirk Warren (Gemma) is in prison about to be executed at the gallows when he receives a last second reprieve by a British colonel with the Secret Service. The Secret Service wants Warren to steal a secret formula from a vault in Switzerland before the nefarious Mr. X gets his hands on it. Once Warren gets his hands on the formula, he attempts to sell the formula to Mr. X for a large sum while humorous events accompany the would-be transaction. The Secret Service, of course, isn’t happy about this, either.
I think deep down I wanted Kiss Kiss... Bang Bang to be more like the Ringo films in a spy setting. I knew that screenwriters di Leo and Corbucci could pen a smart aleck character like Ringo, Nico Giraldi, or Johnny Yuma, for example, who always has the upper-hand on the big guys, despite being poorly resourced and underestimated. To some extent, Gemma's Kirk Warren is a character of this mold but unfortunately, Gemma's character seriously yields to the spy plot--such as a meticulous plan to enter into the Swiss vault and its execution to the myriad double crosses at appointed meetings that result in action sequences. The comedy, above all, dominates and above all, it is very hit and miss. When I take a step back and think about it, I'm almost certain Gemma and Tessari wanted a break from Western cinema. In addition, I don't think that Ercoli and Tessari minded having Navarro and De Luca, respectively, on the set. Kiss Kiss... Bang Bang is light entertainment and seemingly intended to be so.

Kiss Kiss has a lot of big set-pieces in international locations like London, Switzerland, and Rome, for example, but the best moments of the film feature Gemma with the actresses. In a ridiculously human touch, after his reprieve, Warren makes his way to the home of Hilary Shakespeare (Nieves Navarro). Spending quite a few months in prison has made him randy. Navarro giggles a little bit at his reprieve but is more than willing to go to bed with him. Before getting into bed with Shakespeare, Warren tosses his hat at the rack across the room. He completely misses the rack and the hat falls to the floor. Super-cool spy could probably make the shot, but Gemma's character doesn't care: he just wants to get laid. Likewise, when Gemma's Warren attempts to negotiate with Mr. X, he meets Lorella De Luca. She's a cute and bubbly wannabe spy who takes almost every moment to catch Gemma off his feet to shower him with kisses.
Most of the action sequences involve some serious slapstick comedy. For me, I will admit, I have to been in the mood to watch this type of comedy. It gets tired after a few minutes. There is only one super-cool spy gadget and it's a gun that shoots a gas which incapacitates its victim by inducing a laughing fit. If it sounds weird, it's because it is. Gemma uses the weapon, once, and it's not that important. Tessari's compositions are really playful and contribute to the film's loose vibe. Had there been something just a little compelling within Kiss Kiss, then maybe it would be more successful.
Kiss Kiss... Bang Bang is one of those real cult films that would have completely disappeared had Wild East not released it on DVD. It's an important film for serious students of the genre for the participants and, of course, for the seriously curious. For all others, the two classic Ringo films are more than adequate substitutes.

Drive (2011)

Drive (2011) is the best arthouse exploitation film that I’ve seen in a very long time. It’s hard for me not to like a film about a socially-inept, mentally-ill stunt car driver who falls in love with his timid, sweet single-mother neighbor. The first act of the film boasts some of the sweetest romance in recent cinema history, and amazingly, Drive also boasts some of the most sadistic and over-the-top violence, rivaling only Sylvester Stallone’s Rambo (2008) in its bloodlust. The performances are uniformly excellent; the script by Hossein Amini is charged and judicious in its dialogue; and finally, director Nicolas Winding Refn delivers some truly sumptuous audio and visuals.

The driver, played by Ryan Gosling, works legitimately in show business as a stunt car driver and as a garage mechanic for his down-on-his-luck buddy, Shannon (Bryan Cranston). The driver works evenings as a wheelman for robberies. Gosling’s driver is a loner and through a series of fortuitous, small events, his pretty neighbor, Irene (Carey Mulligan) steals his heart. Irene has a young son; and right before it appears that Gosling’s driver and Irene are about to be together and happy, Irene’s husband is released from prison. Meanwhile, Shannon gets a loan from mobster, Bernie (Albert Brooks) and his associate, Nino (Ron Perlman), to purchase a stock car for racing. Shannon sees immediate success with Gosling’s character as his driver. Less than a week out of prison, Irene’s husband gets effed up by some mobsters. Directly in the face of common sense but in the name of love, the driver agrees to help Irene’s husband, so Irene and her son can have a stable life, with a small, pawn shop robbery.

I’ve watched Drive twice, now, and am damn impressed with two subtle scenes. Both of theses scenes are impressive displays of doubletalk and charged emotion. This is a compliment to both Amini’s script and the actors’ performances. The first scene is Gosling's first meeting with Irene’s husband, played by Oscar Isaac. With Mulligan’s Irene watching the two men, Refn plays out the classic scene of the two males, vying for the title of alpha male. In less adept creative hands and with less adept performers, this scene would come off as stagy and melodramatic. Since there is little dialogue, the three actors have to carry the emotion and they carry it very well. The second scene involves Albert Brooks and Gosling. While Gosling gives a wonderful performance, Brooks displays his veteran ability and wonderful talent throughout Drive. I love Albert Brooks’s films. He plays some of the funniest and sweetest men in films like Defending Your Life (1991) and Mother (1996), for example. In his early scenes in Drive, Brooks appears like a lovable, sweet guy. His character makes a dramatic turn in Drive. During a second viewing of Drive, I noticed that those initially sweet scenes with Brooks are actually imbued with a venomous intensity. In a particularly well-done scene, he appears to be encouraging Gosling’s character, but during a second viewing, it is evident that he is really trying to scare the shit out of him. A masterful scene.

Refn’s cinema has its own look. His criminals, as in his masterful Pusher trilogy, don’t look like magazine models or recording artists. They don’t dress in the latest trends. For example, what’s up with the Smokey-and-the-Bandit jacket with the Golden Scorpion? What about the thirty-year-old Puma track suit? Drive is filled with these little shabby yet meticulous details. In the best scene of the film, Gosling with hammer in hand interrupts a gangster in the dressing room of a group of strippers. Visually, it’s brilliant: wall-to-wall mirrors while voluptuous dancers sit coolly, watching Gosling threaten the thug. It’s so gleefully exploitative: sex and violence, married together blissfully. Look closely and one of the strippers has a cup of red rope licorice sitting at her dressing stand. It’s a small little visual cue that these ladies have lives outside of this scene. Like this scene and most of Drive, Refn is able to make surreal and audacious people and scenes completely believable and intimate.

Drive is the best film of 2011. There’s so much more to talk about but a viewing will do it better justice. See it.