Blu-Ray Review: THE MAN WITH THE IRON FISTS 2

Starring Dustin Nguyen, RZA, Carl Ng, Pim Bubear, Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa. Directed by Roel Reine. (2015, 90 min).
Universal

RZA (Robert Fitzgerald Diggs) returns as the title character in this follow-up to 2012’s The Man with the Iron Fists. As with most direct-to-video sequels to marginally successful films, this one is a scaled-back affair. Like the first, RZA co-wrote the screenplay. This time, however, he turns the directorial reigns over to Roel Reine, who appears to specialize in keeping action franchises alive on DVD (he also directed Death Race 2 & 3, Scorpion King 3, The Marine 2, 12 Rounds 2 and The Condemned 2). So it probably goes without saying that fans of the original should lower their expectations. If you’re able to do that, The Man with the Iron Fists 2 might provide some passable entertainment.

This time out, Thaddeus the Blacksmith (RZA) reluctantly comes to the aid of a group of miners suffering under the tyranny of Master Ho (Carl Ng), who excels in cruelty as he rules over the village. Several local women have also been murdered, their lives almost literally sucked out of them, which everyone initially suspects is also Ho’s doing. One miner, Li Kung (Dustin Nguyen, the actual star of the film), finally decides to stand up to Ho after his younger brother is murdered.

Of course, mayhem ensues, with the usual blood-letting through swordplay, arena fights and Thaddeus’ iron appendages. There are enough sliced arteries, dismembered limbs, beheadings and exploding torsos to amuse those who enjoy their action garnished with gore. Like the original, none of the action is anything you haven’t seen before in better films, but it’s handled with workmanlike skill. The same can be said for the story and cast. From a narrative standpoint, there aren’t a hell of a lot of surprises (well, maybe one), and even though this sequel doesn’t boast the same marquee names as the first, the cast (especially Nguyen) is fairly impressive. As Thaddeus, RZA is arguably the weakest link. While not terrible in the role he created for himself, he doesn’t have much range and his character was never all that interesting to begin with.

Like the first film, The Man with the Iron Fists 2 pays respectful homage to the genre which inspired it. While that alone isn’t likely enough to entice new viewers, those who enjoyed the original will probably walk away satisfied.

EXTRAS:

• Making-of Featurette
• Deleted Scenes
• Audio Commentary by Director Roel Rene & RZA
• R-Rated and Unrated Versions of the Film
• DVD & Digital Copies

KITTY CONSENSUS:

Not bad...like Cat Chow

Blu-Ray Review: VENGEANCE OF AN ASSASSIN

Starring Dan Chupong, Nantawut Boonrupsup, Nisachon Tuamsoongnern, Kessarin Ektawakul, Chatchapol Kultsiriwuthichai. Directed by Panna Ritikrai. (2014, 90 min).
Well Go USA

On one hand, Vengeance of an Assassin is a histrionic, sloppy, slapped-together mess with ludicrous action and narrative gaps wider than the Grand Canyon (without a doubt, its story is an afterthought). Nearly every performance makes Nicholas Cage look like the poster child for subtlety, and the special effects are downright laughable. Then there are the numerous gunfights, which grow increasingly ridiculous as the film goes on, like a late scene where people convulse in a hail of gunfire even though nobody’s actually aiming at them, making us think we‘re in the hands of amateurs.

On the other hand, despite the mostly “serious” tone, I can’t help but shake the feeling much of the ridiculousness is intentional. That same dumb gunfight is actually brilliantly executed in one long continuous shot that stretches for several minutes, a virtual ballet of guns, blood and fire. It’s so well choreographed that we assume those behind the camera have their tongues firmly planted in their cheeks when it comes to logistics.

I don’t know much about director Panna Ritikrai (he of Ong-Bak fame; Vengeance of an Assassin  was his last film before passing away), but it’s immediately obvious everything takes a backseat to the ample martial arts scenes, even when they have nothing to do with the plot (such as the over-the-top ‘soccer’ sequence which opens the film). Such scenes are as brutal and jaw-dropping as any other film you’d care to name. Even when taking place atop a CG-rendered commuter train, these guys look like they‘re really hitting each other. Speaking of which, the entire train sequence is so over-the-top, phony and outrageous that one can’t help but think this film is nearly as self-aware as Sharknado.

The story, when the film even bothers to address it, has Thee, the son of two murdered parents (whom we later learn were agents trying to bring down a ruthless crime operation). Later, with virtually no transition, Thee himself (as well as his younger brother) is a virtual, one-man killing machine, taking out dozens of thugs trying to protect the daughter of a government official. Thee’s apparently indestructible, too…during one of many violent encounters with the enemy, he’s thoroughly impaled, yet is back and ready for more action within a few days.

So yeah, Vengeance of an Assassin is utterly ridiculous, and if you’re hung-up on plausibility, you’ll absolutely hate it. But if you’re one of the few able to see through its supposed ineptitude and embrace its uninhibited exuberance, this movie is a hell of a lot of fun.

EXTRAS: None

KITTY CONSENSUS:

Purr...like a good scratch behind the ears.

FAMOUS ACTORS...STEPPING ON LEGOS

Have you ever wondered how a director is able to coax a convincing performance from an actor during an emotionally important moment? We here at Free Kittens Movie Guide have a theory...perhaps all they did before arriving on the set is raid their kids' toy box. 

Submitted as evidence:

And really...wouldn't that explain William Shatner's entire career? There were probably Lego blocks strewn all over the bridge of the Enterprise.

Blu-Ray Review: ECHOES

Starring Kate French, Steven Brand, Billy Wirth, Steve Hanks, Caroline Whitney Smith. Directed by Nils Timm. (2014, 88 min).
Anchor Bay

As a lifelong horror fan, I love coming across a new and relatively obscure film, the kind that doesn’t get the attention of the multiplex mallrat crowd, yet turns out to be a hidden gem. I’m always on the lookout for those. But for every fantastic fright fest like 1988’s Scarecrows (one of the most underrated low budget horror films of all time) or 2013’s disturbing & surreal Rigor Mortis, I end up enduring scores of derivative, forgettable flicks like Echoes.

But here’s the thing…unlike a lot of truly terrible, amateurish garbage passing itself off as horror (especially the direct-to-video stuff), Echoes isn’t necessarily a bad film. In fact, it’s competently directed & shot, featuring decent performances and a story that doesn’t insult your intelligence. However, it isn’t very imaginative, perhaps even overly-conservative at times. Aside from its interesting setting, there’s no real attempt to make it stand out as anything other than a passable time killer on a dull evening. And even then, you aren’t likely to hit the pause button while using the bathroom or heading to the fridge for another beer.

Anna (Kate French) is a troubled writer who suffers from paralyzing night terrors. After taking off with boyfriend/editor Paul (Steven Brand) to his immaculate desert retreat, she has terrifying visions of an evil sand-ravaged spirit, a woman who repeatedly shows up to take care of some unfinished business. Unless you’ve never seen a single ghost story your entire life, you already know this means she’s not necessarily the main villain (though she uses Anna to kill a few people who never wronged her to begin with). This has been a standard movie trope for years, but writer/director Nils Timm makes no attempt to put any kind of unique spin on things, content to dish out yet-another vengeful spirit story we’ve all seen countless times.

While there are some fine visual moments (the desert has always been an eerie place, which this film exploits fairly well), the characters are pretty bland and the story plays more like a checklist. Troubled protagonist? Check. Surreal dream sequence? Check. Ominous written messages from an angry spirit? Check…

I could go on, but what’s the point? You’ll already know what’s going to happen long before Anna does, and even though originality isn’t always a prerequisite for good horror, Echoes comes to a disappointing (and anticlimactic) conclusion.

EXTRAS: None

KITTY CONSENSUS:

Meh...

Rest In Peace, Geoffrey Lewis

Geoffrey Lewis (1935-2015)

FKMG presents UNFORTUNATELY-ARRANGED MOVIE MARQUEES

Sometimes planning in advance is a good idea...

"Noooo!"

The STAR WARS DIGITAL COLLECTION Available for the First Time on Digital HD April 10th

As anticipation builds for the December release of Star Wars: The Force Awakens, the first new film in the Star Wars Saga in a decade, The Walt Disney Studios, Lucasfilm Ltd., and 20 Century Fox today announced the upcoming release of The Star Wars Digital Movie Collection. For the first time ever, all six epic films in the Saga, from The Phantom Menace to Return of the Jedi, will be available on Digital HD throughout the galaxy – or at least here on Earth – globally beginning Friday, April 10.

Watch the Trailer Here

SINISTER 2 Exclusive Teaser Clip Now Available

The fear is spreading – in this exclusive teaser clip from SINISTER 2, the highly anticipated sequel to the 2012 sleeper hit horror movie. This clip, courtesy of Blumhouse Productions and Focus Features, scared Wondercon attendees out of their badges…

Check it out below.  The film opens nationwide on August 21! Stay tuned for the premiere of the Official Trailer on April 9, exclusively on Fandango!

THE TIME MACHINE (1960) and the Unfortunate Pig

Starring Rod Taylor, Alan Young, Yvette Mimieux, Sabastian Cabot, Whit Bissell. Directed by George Pal. (1960, 103 min).

Essay by D.M. ANDERSON
 
George Wells (Rod Taylor) may have invented a time machine, but he sure as hell doesn’t know what to do with such awesome power at his disposal. Being yet-another ‘genius’ more concerned with intellectual enlightenment than personal gain, he decides to travel 800,000 years into the future to witness what humankind has accomplished. What he finds instead is a race of dumb blondes, the Eloi, who are collectively less self-aware than a classroom of 7th graders, along with another batch of cannibalistic underground dwellers (Morlocks) sporting more manboobs than the drunken audience at a David Allan Coe concert (perhaps from chowing down on all those Eloi).

Sure, in The Time Machine, Wells hooks up with Weena (17-year-old Yvette Mimieux, nearly 15 years younger than Taylor...yeech). But rather than getting his jollies in paradise, he returns to his own time, disillusioned that humankind is only going to get dumber (foreshadowing Mike Judge's Idiocracy?). Yet Wells never uses his time machine to alter future events so we don’t end up on the Morlocks' buffet table. In fact, he does a complete about-face and goes back to the same dumbass future, likely to commence bumping-uglies with Weena.

Now that I think about it, I guess ol’ George knows exactly what to do with a time machine, because he’s likely in hog heaven right now (not-to-mention the smartest man on Earth).

That’s the thing about time travel. Ultimately, we’d all probably use it for personal gain. Think about it…what would you do with a time machine at your disposal? Would you truly be curious about the future, would you kill a tyrant like Hitler to prevent attempted genocide, or would you manipulate the past for your own benefit?

I’m honest enough to admit I’d use a time machine for selfish reasons, such as:

• 1) Traveling back a week with the latest Powerball numbers.
• 2) Talking my 18-year-old self out of getting married right after graduating high school.
• 3)  Slapping some sense into Seattle Seahawks head coach Pete Carroll before calling-in that bone-headed final play in Super Bowl XLIX which lost them the game.

But you know what? I’m probably self-centered enough to use such a machine to alter even menial events which have no impact on anyone else, just to relieve myself of the gnawing guilt I still feel.

For example, I met a pig today.

Not on purpose. It was one of those weird little incidents that, while not necessarily life-changing, you never forget simply because you wonder how things would have turned out if you’d have done just one thing differently.

While I was at work (I'm a middle school teacher), my wife called to say she locked herself out of the house and needed me to come home and let her in. It was good timing, really, because my lunch period had just started. I had roughly forty minutes to get home, unlock the house and get back before my next class. I was a little miffed having to skip lunch to bail her out, but that subsided when I remembered it was chicken nugget day in the cafeteria (their nuggets have the same taste and consistency as a plate of Hacky-Sacks).

I made it home in about 15 minutes. The driveway gate was open when I pulled in. We’re usually pretty good at keeping it closed, since our dog, Murphy, isn’t the brightest crayon in the box. But after climbing from my car, I noticed Murphy was actually trapped in the house, barking at me through the living room window (his eyesight ain’t so great either). I had expected my wife to be sitting on the porch with a sheepish grin on her face, but she wasn’t.

Then I heard the thump-thump-thump of one of her disco CDs and knew she was in the garage on the treadmill to pass the time. I headed toward the back of the house. And that’s when I saw it…a pig. Not a very big one, about the size of our dog, pushing his snout through some weeds. I immediately froze in stunned disbelief.

Planet of Manboobs

Granted, it wasn't like I just spotted a giant squid flopping around in my yard. But I live in Portland, Oregon, not exactly Times Square, but not Green Acres, either. My house sits on a busy urban street just a few blocks away from a 7-Eleven, three gas stations, a wrecking yard and a strip club. How in the hell did a pig end up here? Until now, the most exotic animals to invade my property were occasional frogs climbing the side of the house and two racoons humping atop my storage shed one night. I guess there was also the time my neighbors decided to fill their pond with crawdads. One of the critters apparently did not like the new living arrangements and kept crossing the property onto our driveway. I returned it to them twice before my neighbors finally realized crawdads didn’t make great pets.

But this was a pig, and not one of those cute, fuzzy potbelly ones hipsters adopt as pets. This was a pig pig, fat and pink, the kind most of us only come in contact with only after they’ve become pork chops. Okay, maybe he was a little cute, like the one in Babe. But still, he was wet, muddy and not something I'd want sitting in my lap.

I stared dumbfounded, the reality of a farm animal on my property not really registering for a second.

“Honey?” I called to my wife, which startled the critter from his burrowing to look up at me. “There’s a pig in our yard!”

She couldn't hear me over the sounds of ABBA, but the pig heard all he needed to before breaking into a sprint, whizzing past me as fast as his stubby little legs could carry him. He snorted as he went by, obviously terrified, toes clicking on the driveway as he scurried out the open gate. I didn't realize they could run so fast.

“Hey, wait!” I yelled, feeling immediately stupid, as if the beastie would suddenly stop, rear his head and reply, “What is it, Dave?” Hell, my own dog doesn’t come to me when I call him.

Still, I  panicked and chased after him. We live on a busy road, and I worried he might run out into traffic. He may not have been a beloved pet, but that didn’t mean I wanted to see him get pancaked by an SUV. By the time I reached the end of the driveway, he was nowhere to be seen. I was a bit relieved at the time. At least he didn’t run out into the road. He must have disappeared into the neighbor’s bushes or something.

Finished on the treadmill, my wife came out of the garage. I asked her if she had seen the pig in our yard. She looked at me like I just had a six-pack for lunch.

“I swear to god,” I claimed. “There was a pig  snooting around in the weeds. I hope he stays off the road.”

I could tell my wife thought I was making this up…or worse, hallucinating. In fact, she only half-jokingly suggested that very thing.

Anyway, after checking the time, I forgot about the pig. I had to get back to work fast to be in time for my next class. Kids are allowed a few mulligans when it comes to tardies, but teachers aren’t.

Back at school, I told the students in my next class about my pig encounter. None seemed too impressed. Granted, seeing a pig may not be as awe-inspiring as a UFO landing in your yard, but it isn’t like the streets of Portland are teaming with swine. The only comment I got back was from one girl, who asked, “Was it fat?” Yeah, like the pig’s size was the missing detail to make my lunchtime account a better story.

After the school day ended, I got home in time to join my wife in waiting for my daughter’s bus.

On the way back from the bus stop, there was the little pig lying on the side of the road about thirty feet beyond our driveway…

...dead.

Fortunately, my little daughter had a friend she’d invited home for a play date, and in their quest to get home and start dressing Barbies, they didn’t notice him. I’m glad because she only recently informed us she would no longer eat pork because pigs are cute animals.* Not only that, she doesn’t handle death too well. She cried for two hours when a fifty-cent snail in her fish’s bowl died.

After the girls had vanished into the house my wife and I ventured over to the dead pig, which was definitely nailed by a car. I guess he wandered out into the road after all.

“See?” I victoriously exclaimed to my wife. “I told you I wasn’t making this up.”

But inside, I was sad. No, I don’t get upset every time I spot roadkill. In fact, part of me does a silent cheer whenever I see the bloodied carcass of a raccoon that meets its end with a car bumper. Raccoons may be cute, but they're nasty, mean animals (and one beat the shit out of my cat once, which resulted in a $500 in veterinary bill).

But a pig? In the city? I don't know how he got there, but the little critter was obviously out of his element and probably scared to death. And as I looked down at his carcass (not a bloody, gory mess…just lying there on the sidewalk with his little black eyes still open, which actually made it worse), I started to wonder if I could have prevented this. What if I had closed the gate when I got home to let my wife in? What if I had tried to catch the little pig as he tried to flee my driveway?

I tried to reason it through in order to feel better…he wasn’t my pig and I sure as hell didn't have the space or resources to take care of one, even temporarily, while I scouted the neighborhood to find its owner. My wife suggested going to Zenger Farm, a nearby business which isn’t so-much an actual farm as a tiny agricultural Mecca where urbanites congregate and buy pumpkins and wine. Maybe one of Zenger’s animals escaped. So I checked. But they had no real livestock, just some chickens and bunnies for school kids to fawn over during field trips (just what purpose do bunnies actually serve on a farm, anyway?). After that, I felt I did all I could for the little pig. It ain’t like we bonded or anything. This dead pig wasn’t my problem. I didn't ask him to wander into my yard.

As I write this, it is still lying on the side of the road while cars whiz by. I feel bad about that because surely there must be someone missing their pig, even if they only intended to make bacon strips out of him. I’m thinking I should go outside with a few towels and hoist him off the sidewalk, away from the road where he met his death. Why? Maybe it's guilt, knowing that dumb little porker would still be alive and snorting if I had simply closed the gate when I came home, and now I felt removing his dead carcass from the indifferent rush hour traffic would atone for my lack of foresight.

I know, considering the circumstances, it's dumb to think this way, but guilt is a powerful, vicious beast. It can claw and eat away at you, even when you've haven't consciously done anything wrong. Hindsight is the mother of all bitches, and she doesn't care what your best intentions are.

If I had access to a time machine, I'd love to give that bitch the slapping she deserves.

*She has since rescinded that proclamation just a couple of weeks later, when she awoke to the smell of bacon frying on the griddle last Sunday.

YOUR DYSTOPIAN VACATION DESTINATION AWAITS...

Looking for that chance to get away, let loose and indulge in your every whim, no matter how morally questionable? Forget about Vegas, skip Amsterdam and don’t waste time trying to get in shape to roam the beaches of Ft. Lauderdale in a Speedo during Spring Break. While those destinations are fun and have plenty of perks, they aren’t enough to sate the impulsive carnal urges your disturbed mind keeps bottled-up in the real world, are they?

So why not really unleash your inhibitions with one of Hollywood’s many “DYSTOPIAN PARADISE PACKAGES”?

Nevada’s infamous Bunny Ranch will seem as tame as a Puritan honeymoon compared the pleasures which await you. And who knows… you might even get to kill some people!

If such decadence sounds appealing (and you know who you are), perhaps you’d fancy visiting the following destinations…

VENUSVILLE (Total Recall)

Sure, Mars may not be as aesthetically romantic as venturing to the rings of Saturn (“Everyone raves about ’em”), but doesn't that seem sort-of like today’s old folks embarking on a cruise hoping to rekindle some spark in their marriage?

Venusville, on the other hand, is for those who just want to get their rocks off while pretending to be a secret agent (which applies to every self-aware male ever born). While there are numerous bars and brothels which will indulge you, your best bet is to check-out The Last Resort, featuring mutant lovelies who’ll make you wish you had three hands.

THE DYSTOPIAN DOWNSIDE: Okay, sure…the folks working on Mars are oppressed, and yeah, you might find yourself morally obligated to liberate them. But hey…in the meantime…three boobs!

ROUGE CITY (A.I: Artificial Intelligence)

In a future where global warming has flooded most of the planet and procreation is a crapshoot at best, we can purchase little robot children who will love us unconditionally, even after the novelty has worn off. But hey, you didn’t come here to play wet nurse to a walking, whiny piece of snot-nosed circuitry. You want action!

Look no further than Rouge City, a neon wonderland of carnal pleasure for members of both sexes, provided by ‘professionals’ programmed to do whatever you want. This sexual utopia is the perfect destination for spiky-headed douche bags who weren’t around when Ft. Lauderdale was still above sea level. As for you ladies, make sure to ask for Gigolo Joe!

THE DYSTOPIAN DOWNSIDE: Despite all the practical and personal perks of the advanced robotics in this world, one can’t help but think the human race is already doomed. So enjoy your stay while you can.

“THE NOT-TO-DISTANT FUTURE” (The year 2018, as imagined by 1975’s Rollerball)

What a world! And it’s only three years away!
 
No crime…no poverty…no unemployment. Everything’s been taken care of by corporations who run the world and know exactly what you need to be happy: Sports, sex and synthetic drugs, all of which are provided in abundance.

Even if you’re not content in your day job, these guys have turned designer drugs into an art form, creating pills specifically manufactured to make you dream to be anyone you want, from a corporate executive to a Rollerball champion. Speaking of which, Rollerball is the only sport left, but it’s so brutal, bloody and punishing that you’ll never miss the old days of the NFL or UFC. And yeah, players die on a regular basis, especially since the rules are changed more frequently than they are in NASCAR.

And the women? Depending on your status, one will be provided for you by the corporation as a reward! She’ll be waiting at home for you, tarted-up and glamorously garbed. Beats the hell out of trying to impress them on a first date, doesn’t it?

THE DYSTOPIAN DOWNSIDE: If you’re a woman, you’re pretty-much considered property. If you’re a man, you’re stuck wearing tight polyester bell-bottoms and shirts with ridiculously-flared collars. There aren’t any books either (which makes this place a total utopia for most 7th graders), but don’t worry…most of them have been transcribed and edited by a central computer, which sometimes works properly. And whatever you do, DON'T try to stand out from the crowd. Just pop your pills, enjoy your luxurious life, don’t ask questions and your stay will be a happy one.

DELOS (Westworld)

Delos…the adult Disneyland. For $1000 a day, you can visit one of three distinct worlds, Medieval World, Roman World or Westworld, and indulge in your every whim. For example, in Westworld, you can rob banks, engage in gunfights and essentially kill anyone you want with absolutely no repercussions! Why? Because you’re simply shooting robots who are programmed to lose any lethal confrontation you initiate!

Afterwards, you can venture to the local brothel and take your pick of the many beauties in bustiers. Despite your initial inhibitions over having sex with a robot, these lovelies are willing, submissive and almost like the real thing (just don’t look at their hands).

THE DYSTOPIAN DOWNSIDE: Sometimes Delos’ computers go all funny, causing the robots to turn homicidal, which may have you questioning why they would arm their gunfighters with real bullets in the first place (especially if one Is chasing you). You also have to wonder whose job it is to sterilize the robots you (and everyone else) have been indiscriminately humping during your stay, and praying they do more than a quick ‘wipe down’ each day.

THE CITY (Logan’s Run)

The City is the perfect world of total pleasure…there’s just one catch…

Let’s take care of the pleasure part. It’s 2274; everyone is young, gorgeous and dressed in skimpy attire just one step removed from lingerie. They spend their days wandering a massive, climate-controlled domed city (looking a lot like a mall in downtown Dallas), indulging in whatever fancies them, having indiscriminant sex or engaging in orgies at the local Love Shop. But even if you aren’t inclined to mingle, you can stay home and simply use your remote control to have the perfect temporary partner materialize right in the room!

Need a break from all that uninhibited fornicating? Venture over to Carousel, take a seat and get your jollies watching some other poor rubes in leotards hoisted into the air before exploding.

THE DYSTOPIAN DOWNSIDE: Here’s the catch: Those poor rubes you enjoyed watching explode just turned 30, which is as long as you’re allowed to live. Anyone who tries to make it to 31 are hunted down by Sandmen, the few guys who appear to have actual jobs in this world (Hey, if you’re forced to work, why not have one that lets you kill people?). Still, you also have to ask yourself what would be better…30 years of engaging in nothing but self-indulgent pleasure, or working your ass off in a tedious job for decades before retiring at an age when you can no longer control your own bowels?

What do you say…shall we book your Dystopian Destination now?