Commercial Review: LABATT MAXIMUM ICE (1993, Michael Ironside)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 30 seconds.
Notable Cast or Crew: Michael Ironside.
Best one-liner: “The creators of ice brewing…now LABATT MAXIMUM ICE."

EXT- SCOTTISH CLIFF- NIGHT. Waves crash, lightning flashes in the darkness. You can almost feel the icy spray of seawater, feel the cold chill of the ocean wind. Ministry’s “New World Order” begins to blast away.

A long-haired figure, his robe fluttering in the wind, pivots toward us– this is perhaps the most evocative opening two seconds of a beer commercial that the world has ever seen. In fact, this is not just a commercial– it's a thirty second movie.

There is a lot to like here, so let’s get down to brass tacks: Ironside, wearing his General Katana costume from HIGHLANDER 2, is laying down a few facts about Labatt Ice. It is not a ‘request’- this is not some slack-jawed Canadian huckster: this is IRONSIDE. And he does not make suggestions, he commands things of you. And note that I say “Ironside wearing his Katana costume.” It is my contention that General Katana alone is not quite terrifying enough to compel us to try Labatt Maximum Ice. Ironside, however, perhaps while taking a break from filming (and thus still in wig and robes) is taking a moment of his valuable time to explain something to you, so, by God, you’d better listen.

He solemnly intones: “History teaches that the strong survive by becoming stronger… this lesson has not been lost on Labatt.”



“The creators of ice brewing…”



Ironside strides up to a Stonehenge-style construction, surrounded by ivy-covered ancient columns. To one side, a stone jar- brimming with FLAMES. Beside it is the main altar- filled with LABATT MAXIMUM ICE and surrounded by regular ice, just to keep the maximum ice even colder.

[I should probably take this opportunity to mention exactly how many lightning strikes happen in the thirty seconds of glory that are this commercial. If you’re of the school of thought that only one lightning strike can exist at any given time, there are ten. If you’re of the school of thought that ‘multiple-bolted strikes’ should count as more than one, then there’s at least twenty.]

Now is this ONE lightning strike, THREE lightning strikes, or SEVEN?


“…now Labatt Maximum Ice. Only Labatt possesses the power of ‘ICE BREWING.’ And only ICE BREWING can create..."

Mind those sleeves around the flaming urn, Mike!


"...Labatt Maximum Ice."

“Now, hold on a second!" some pencil neck in the back is whining. “What does that even mean?… ‘ice brewing…’ Pshaw.” Well, allow me to tell you: IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER JUST SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO IRONSIDE. But for those of you who resisted the urge to interrupt Ironside with your shrill, uninformed questions, I’ll tell you for real: during the finishing process, after the beer has been brewed, it’s cooled to approximately twenty to twenty-eight degrees Fahrenheit, which creates small frozen crystals (of water), but merely chills the rest of the alcohol. The ice (purely water at this point) chunks are removed, which ups the alcohol percentage of the remaining concoction. Now, next time, just take Ironside’s word for it.



“The ultimate balance of smoothness and strength.” [We could say the same about you, Mr. Ironside. But we won’t, because we’re afraid to speak in your presence.] “Who says lightning doesn’t strike twice?” Ironside calmly, and casually concludes the commercial with this question, but it’s almost a warning, because immediately, lightning does, in fact, strike twice.

I’m not sure what that proves, or why Labatt Maximum Ice is evidence of lightning striking twice, but I’m not going to ask any silly questions like that while Ironside is around, I can tell you that.

Wow. Now, lucky for us all, they still make Labatt Maximum Ice, but its availability is pretty dependent on your region. I’ve had no luck thus far on finding it thus far in the Big Apple, but our buddies down at the 40 oz. Malt Liquor archive have provided a measured overview.


-Sean Gill

Film Review: STREET TRASH (1987, J. Michael Muro)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.
Running Time: 102 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: James Lorinz (FRANKENHOOKER), Vic Noto, Bil Chepil, Mike Lackey, Jane Arakawa, Tony Darrow (GOODFELLAS). Written by Roy Frumkes.
Tag-line: "Things in New York are about to go down the toilet..."
Best one-liner: "I don't need this. I already got trouble with my kids, my wife, my business, my secretary, the bums... the runaways, the roaches, prickly heat, and a homo dog. This just ain't my day."

STREET TRASH is a greasy, fat man pinning you down in a cracked, faux-leather chair as he tries to pleasure himself. It's a police van full of shabby hookers. It's one tough cop beating a dude within an inch of his life, then vomiting on him. It's a bum drinking some toxic hooch and dissolving into a candy-colored volcano as he (literally) flushes himself down the toilet.

It's a homeless man stuffing raw chicken into his Hazmat pants as he shoplifts your local C-Town.

It's gang rape, necrophilia, and a game of 'monkey in the middle' with some castrated genitalia. All of this is accompanied by gentle clarinet-heavy jazz and honkytonk piano that'd be at home in a Woody Allen credits sequence. Written by THE SUBSTITUTE scribe and DAWN OF THE DEAD zombie Roy Frumkes and directed by Steadicam-maven J. Michael Muro, STREET TRASH is visually magnificent, and has the careening, off-kilter energy of a wild sprint down a squalid alleyway. To pin it down as "about" something- like a case of noxious, hobo-dissolving Viper liquor- would be doing it a disservice.

It's a meandering, slice of (psychotic) life from the most unsavory, dilapidated side of Greenpoint, Brooklyn (where I used to live!). It's almost as if Vittorio de Sica (THE BICYCLE THIEF, UMBERTO D) made a Troma film. Consequently, it's way fucking better than any Troma film, which has earned J. Michael Muro the bitter honor of "Troma's most hated director" according to Lloyd Kaufman. This would be like Ted V. Mikels saying that Russ Meyer is his 'most hated director' or Bruno Mattei saying that Dario Argento is his 'most hated.' I mean, come on.



The acting, by a cast of mostly non-professionals, is sometimes masterful, sometimes hideous, but never less than memorable. There's a brief, hilarious role (as 'the Doorman') by the smarmy James Lorinz (Dr. Franken in FRANKENHOOKER); a terrifying turn by Vic Noto as the femur-wielding Bronson;

and a terrific, likable tough guy played by real-life cop Bill Chepil. This is the stuff that underground cinema dreams are made of, and it ends on a truly appropriate WTF moment. And stay for the end credits, which feature a mind-blowing song (sung in character!) by a sleazy mafioso (Tony Darrow). For similar cheap n' gritty thrills, see: DEADBEAT AT DAWN, BASKET CASE, and THE DRILLER KILLER.

-Sean Gill

BONUS: Make your very own bottle of Tenafly Viper! (click on the picture for a larger view)

Beverage Review: BALTIKA EXTRA 9 (2008, Russia)

Stars: 1 of 5.
Maker: Baltika (the second-largest brewery in Europe, after Heineken).
Home Country: Russia.
Where procured: Bodega, corner of Manhattan and Nassau in Brooklyn.

Well, right off the bat we got problems. I don't even know where to begin. It's meant to be a 40 (Alcohol Volume 8.0%), but it's actually 75 fluid ounces (2 Quarts, 11 oz. is what it says on the bottle). This thing is a behemoth. And it doesn't even come in glass. It comes in thin plastic with a strange, dimpled texture. It looks like the odd cousin of a two-liter soda. And I can see already the wheels in your head are turning- if it's not in the extra insulated glass, how are 75 ounces of this tripe gonna stay cold for more than six minutes? And the answer is, they're not. More on that later. There's other fundamental problems too, even beyond the fact that the "Best Before Date" box is empty. Now, it seems to be entitled "Extra 9 Lager." And everyone schooled in how these things work knows that there are two types of beers, lagers and ales. Well, okay, this one is a lager, then. But then, up in the right hand corner of the label, it says "Ale." Well, which is it? 'Alright,' you say, 'just crack it open and find out for yourself.' Alright, I shall. You crack it open, and you get kind of this sweet smell. It's a smell that seems to contradict the fact that you just paid 2.3 cents per ounce for this stuff. If you later examine the ingredients list, you'll find that the smell is probably just the "High Maltose Corn Syrup." I'm not sure what that is, and after I tried this, I'm not sure I care to find out. Anyway, by the time you've finished taking in the oddly sweet smell it produces, the liquid within has probably jumped a good ten degrees in temperature. So it's time for that first, fateful sip. Even cold, even ICE cold, this stuff tastes exactly like sweaty gym shorts. 'Have you even actually tasted sweaty gym shorts?,' you ask. Well, try a sip of Extra 9 and come tell me where you stand on that issue. It tastes EXACTLY like sweaty gym shorts. And that is not a good thing, even when you're trying to imbue your life with extra kitsch value. And remember by the time you're 6 minutes into this gargantuan endeavor, it's gonna be room temperature. You thought it tasted like gym shorts when it was ice cold? You are in for some hard, unfortunate truths at room temperature. And then, of course, there's the question- do I put it back in the freezer and get it cold again at the risk of losing carbonation, or do I stick it out here at a rapidly rising room temperature? Do I jeopardize throwing away my $1.75 investment with the additional risk of appearing to be less of a man? These are actually some pretty weighty questions for malt liquor to be asking. In any event, I continued on, if only for the sake of this fine beverage review. And let me tell you, by the time I got to the foam at the bottom, lukewarm gym shorts were sounding pretty good. Words truly have no dominion over the shapeless, slavering, gangrenous Lovecraftian monsters that lie in the foam abyss at the bottom of this dimpled bottle. I must say I don't think it's worth finding out for yourself. One star.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: A GIRL CUT IN TWO (2008, Claude Chabrol)

Stars: 5 of 5.

Running Time: 115 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew: Benoit Magimel (of Chabrol's THE BRIDESMAID and THE FLOWER OF EVIL and Haneke's THE PIANO TEACHER), François Berleand (everything from CAMILLE CLAUDEL to Breillat's ROMANCE to THE TRANSPORTER 2) , Ludivine Sagnier (of Ozon's SWIMMING POOL), Mathilda May (from THE JACKAL...hah), Caroline Sihol, Thomas Chabrol.

Tag-line: "One man's love is another man's lust."

Awards: Golden Arena at the Pula Film Festival, Bastone Bianca Award at the Venice Film Festival.

Chabrol is a subtle filmmaker. He's long lived in the shadow of Hitchcock (try and find an article, review, or appreciation that does not use the tired phrase "the French Hitchcock"), but his films are much more subtle, vague, and 'RULES OF THE GAME meets Agatha Christie,' than Hitchcock, which sometimes works in his favor, and sometimes against. I don't understand the preponderance of negative reviews. Obviously, this is not an ideal entry point into Chabrol's work (I would suggest LES BONNES FEMMES, MASQUES, or LA CEREMONIE for starters), but A GIRL CUT IN TWO is a very well-constructed film. Based on the Nesbit/Thaw/White love triangle from turn of the century America, Chabrol constructs a film with multi-layered characters (most of them total self-serving dicks), superb acting,

(particularly Chabrol favorite Benoit Magimel as the simpering, unstable dandy), hidden motivations, and the unsettling creepiness of what goes on behind the closed doors of the rich and lecherous. Chabrol does require you to meet him halfway- a crucial event might be faded out on, then referenced in innuendo or half-divulged remarks, and much of the enjoyment comes from piecing together the mysterious motivations, almost as if you are a member of the social circle figuring things out from half-heard conversations or hearsay. By now, you should know if this is the sort of film you'd like or not. It's not BASIC INSTINCT or SLIVER, no matter what the poster may insinuate. But consider Chabrol a fine red wine compared to the mixed fruit-flavored special brew St. Ides malt liquor that Hollywood generally serves up as a romantic psychological thriller.

Sometimes you need that special brew, and it gets the job done. But, ultimately, you're gonna get a lot more out of the red wine. I hope.

-Sean Gill

Music Review: ST. IDES MALT LIQUOR JINGLE (Ice Cube, 1992)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 22 seconds.
Best line: "The S. T. Period. I. D. E. to the S.!"

A lot of prominent rappers performed original songs for St. Ides commercials in the early 90's. According to a September 27, 1994 Entertainment Weekly article,

"The St. Ides brand has made use of celebrity endorsements in the past. Ice Cube was one rapper who was almost certainly compensated by St. Ides; he had an endorsement deal with the company and even wrote and performed several rhymes for St. Ides commercials. Other rappers who performed original songs for St. Ides commercials include 2Pac, Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, Warren G, Nate Dogg, MC Eiht, Scarface, Wu-Tang Clan, Project Pat, King Tee, DJ Pooh, The Notorious B.I.G., Eric B & Rakim, EPMD, Method Man & Redman, Cypress Hill, RBL Posse, and The Geto Boys. Chuck D appeared in a St. Ides advertisement once, but sued the brand's then-owner, the McKenzie River Brewing Company, for using his voice without his permission; he had long taken a strong stance against malt liquor advertising."

I feel as if, however, this particular contribution to the genre by Ice Cube manages to plumb some very specific heights and depths of not only malt liquor advertising jingles, but perhaps music itself, managing (not unlike malt liquor itself) to distill into a mere twenty-two seconds a tremendous amount of moody lyricism, unexpected poignancy, and even some tips and recommendations on how life ought to be lived. Giving the piece some extra weight right off the bat is the fact that the beats used come from Cypress Hill's hit 1991 single "How I Could Just Kill a Man." You don't see Coca-Cola using beats of that magnitude to shill their shanty sugar water. Ice Cube is not a mere huckster here, he's a purveyor of truth- but don't just take my word for it, let me show you.

The song begins with Mr. Cube exiting his car with furrowed brow. He begins: "Once again this song/I'm goin' out the front door/Ice Cube in the glass house headed for the sto'/to get a beer that's better than the rest/ the S. T. Period. I. D. E. to the S!"

Cube begins with a brief window of insight into his life as a celebrity. "Once again this song"- he's always asked to perform the same songs over and over, and it becomes tiring in the sense of existential ennui. He refers to leaving his home, the "glass house" in which there is no refuge from the media, the fans, the masses...and where does he go, but to the sto' (shortened form of 'store'). The sto' is the only place that he can find sanctuary from the demands and stressors of his tortured and all too public life. And the reason the sto' offers respite is because the sto' offers St. Ides Malt Liquor. His joy at obtaining St. Ides is so evident that he sings a little jingle within a jingle in its honor. The exhilaration is so evident that the final 'S' in St. Ides even does a little twisty dance in tune with the undulating beat.

Cube continues: "And it'll put hair on your chest/in the black can/ so whydon'cha grab a six pack and/ Get your girl in the mood quicker/ Get your jimmy thicker/ with St. Ides Malt Liquor." Now I can see already that you're bristling. There are a lot of claims made in that last couplet. I think Cube means it on a more of a theoretical level, as I found no claims on the official or FDA pages that denote St. Ides has the capacity to increase chest hair growth, get your girl in the mood quicker, or make your jimmy thicker, though I feel several of those lines are open to poetic interpretation. Left unexplained are exactly which of your girl's moods will be hastened or to what exactly 'Jimmy' refers.

It is also interesting that Cube recommends the six-pack instead of the classic 40 oz. option, as it is common knowledge that canned St. Ides is far less smooth and more metallic in flavor than its glass-encased brother. Also flummoxing is the fact that Cube gives a less than helpful pointer for finding St. Ides, encouraging the listener to grab 'the black can.' Unfortunately, this could refer to any number of malt liquors from 'Evil Eye' to 'King Cobra.' More helpful might have been 'look for the can or bottle with the crooked "I" and the evocative graphic of windblown grain.'

It is for these slightly misleading statements that the song rates only a 4 out of 5. But consider the fact that in a mere 22 seconds, Ice Cube offers an analysis of his life, fame, and the respite that is St. Ides; and then proceeds to give some pointers on how to obtain it, and the effects that may or may not result from drinking it. In that respect, Cube perfectly fulfills his roles as poet, singer, salesman, and purveyor of cultural observations. Bravo, Mr. Cube. Four stars.

-Sean Gill

Coming soon:
As Junta Juleil continues its exploration of all aspects of relevant culture-
Some bona fide food and beverage reviews!