Evil Spawn (1987)

The Hollywood studio machine eats people up and spits them out.  We all know this.  It’s understood as a given for anyone entering the world of cinematic celebrity.  Aside from those who get involved in drugs and murder and sleazy sex/religious cults or whatever, there is the omnipresent threat that at any moment, the phone may stop ringing because you have been deemed too old.  The difference between the former examples and the latter is that people have no choice in the aging process.  We begin dying the moment we’re born, and careers in Hollywood tend to die very prematurely indeed.  I think (I have no hard evidence for any of this, mind you) that an actor or actress knows that their career is on the downswing the moment they receive a screenplay wherein they will be playing the parent of one of the main characters or worse the grandparent (or – Horror! – scripts for television movies).  And women get it worse than men, clearly.  Men are said to get distinguished with age.  Men mature.  Women age, and the shelf life for a top actress who can headline a film and put asses in seats (who are scarce enough to begin with) is shorter than that of a mayfly.  It’s not uncommon to be considered over the hill by the time an actress is in her thirties.  It’s no wonder that they cling in desperation to their careers by getting all manner of plastic surgery done.  The sad irony is that said work typically makes them look more cartoonish than if they had simply allowed themselves to grow old with grace.  They make of themselves a freak show, and one thing that people love to watch is a freak show (celebrity or otherwise).  I believe we’re all culpable to some degree or another in this cultural perpetuation, but to go into it and all of its permutations at any length isn’t why we’re here, so I’ll be brief.  We moan that older actors and actresses get shit parts in shit films, but how many of us would pay for a theater ticket to see a big budget film with Diane Lane playing the lead role?  Don’t lie.  The vast majority of people would either wait until it hits video or cable or pirate it off a torrent site, if it even hits their radar at all.  How many studio executives would take a chance on a project like that?  Very few, if they value their tenuous jobs.  Though the occasional bright light does shine through this darkness, these glimmers are few and far between.  All of this ties into the Kenneth J Hall (Ted Newsom and Fred Olen Ray are also listed on IMdB as directors, but if memory serves, only Hall is credited onscreen) schlockfest Evil Spawn (aka Alien Within aka Deadly Sting aka Alive by Night aka Metamorphosis).  It just does very little to save the film.

A space probe brings alien microbes (which are actually quite large for microbes as I would define them and so not actually microbes at all) are brought to Earth to be studied.  Evelyn (who pronounces her name like He-Man villainess Evil-Lyn and is played by Dawn Wildsmith) murders a fellow scientist (apparently in his garage-turned-laboratory) and takes the microbes back to her mentor Dr. Zeitman (John Carradine who really struggles just to get through his scene; I felt bad for the man, frankly), who also promptly croaks.  Evelyn approaches aging actress Lynn Roman (Bobbie Bresee, thirty-seven years old at the time this was released) with an anti-aging serum derived from the microbes, and once Lynn reaches her snapping point and decides to take the drug, the beast that has been raging inside her is finally unleashed.

Okay.  From the above synopsis, the film’s plot probably doesn’t make a ton of sense.  That’s because the film doesn’t make a ton of sense.  Characters come and go just because.  Plot threads are brought up, scarcely tied into the main plot, and then completely forgotten.  The characters all act extremely dumb and/or whiny.  The world these people exist in is entirely unbelievable, even if you look at it through the lens of trash cinema (though doing that would likely make the film a bit more palatable).  Not one of these people are motivated by anything other than plot conveniences.  The picture’s story is almost a total lift of 1959’s The Wasp Woman (and if you want to read about a seriously messed up end to a starlet’s career and life, look up some information on Susan Cabot sometime) an, to a lesser extent, both versions of The Fly, but at least in those films, the characters pretended to do something every now and then.  The lion’s share of Evil Spawn is Lynn crying about her career, bellyaching about the movie she wants to be in, and being hopelessly untethered from reality a la Norman Desmond but not nearly as interestingly (and Sunset Boulevard is another influence on this film, though Billy Wilder likely spins in his grave every time this film is screened).  Even at seventy minutes long, this film outstays its welcome.  It’s like waiting for a boring guest to leave, then he says something that briefly piques your interest and snaps you out of your stupor, but then you swiftly realize that they’re still depressingly tedious, and go back to counting the seconds until it’s all over.  The only thing this film has a plenitude of is naked women, and they are certainly attractive enough, each and every one.  Just not enough to make sitting through this whole thing worth the effort.  There’s also some gore and a relatively decent monster costume (especially impressive if the estimated thirty thousand dollar budget is to be believed), but again, it’s just too little, too late.

Outside of the fear of irrelevance embodied by Lynn in her bid to stay in the spotlight is the motif that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.  Her biographer (Ross Anderson) is essentially a meathead.  Her boyfriend Brent (John Terrence) gives the impression he doesn’t want to be seen in public with Lynn, and is cheating on her with some floozy (who he brings to Lynn’s house just so they can both become victims…I mean, just to get a little action).  Her agent (Fox Harris) is a two-faced slimewad, who dicks Lynn over for a younger client.  Her producer pal (Mark Anthony) lets her have it with both barrels when she all but begs him for a role in his next big movie (“No amount of diffusion can take that away,” re: Lynn’s wrinkles).  Naturally, there’s only so much a woman can endure, and since almost all of these characters are so deplorable and/or bland, we can’t wait for Lynn to “Hulk out” and start laying waste to them.  We’re in her corner, because she’s the victim.  Normally, audiences love films like this, but our main character in this one simply isn’t sympathetic enough for us to give a shit about her travails.  Sadly, it makes the creature/murder scenes little more than bathetic rather than cathartic.

MVT:  The only reason to watch this is for its exploitable elements (read: nudity and blood), and even then I would likely just recommend trying to find a condensation of those scenes without all the other shit.

Make or Break:  The death of Elaine (Pamela Gilbert) is the highlight of the film for a few reasons.  One, I think she’s the best looking woman in this film.  Two, she’s stark raving nude when it happens.  Three, the blood streaming down her back and into the crack of her ass does actually make a great image, all things being equal.  You got me on that one, Mr. Ray.

Score:  3/10             

The Phantom Empire (1986)

One of my favorite legends is the tale of the Iron Door (the other one is Spring-Heeled Jack, but that’s a discussion for some other time).  Reputedly located in the Samaria Mountain range, the story begins at its end.  A couple of homesteaders were sitting outside their cabin one day, when they noticed a horse and rider drawing near.  The rider was wounded (shot, in fact), and the homesteaders hurried him into their cabin.  As he lay dying, the rider stated that he was a member of a trio of stagecoach robbers who had menaced the area for a long time, and they had amassed quite a stash of precious metals and assorted booty.  According to the moribund highwayman, the ill-gotten gains had been placed in a cave south of Samaria which was sealed with the eponymous door.  During an argument, the man shot and killed his two partners and sealed them behind the door as well before dragging himself away.  Since the description of the cache’s location is imprecise to say the least, no one has been able to find it (though you’d think the door would give it away) to this day.  When I initially heard this story, I was told that the door’s location would mystically change from day to day, though I believe it was just imprecisely explained to me, as well.  So, anyone who wants to take a trip to the wilds of Idaho with me, let me know.  I’m always up for a treasure hunt (actually, that’s a lie; I hate the outdoors).

One lovely day, an albino-ish monster (actually a guy in an Alien Hitbeast mask from The Last Starfighter and a blonde/white fright wig) scurries out of Bronson Cavern and kills some random guy (Michael Sonye) and his dog before being clubbed with a Coleman cooler by his wife (Victoria Alexander).  Enter hoi polloi/rich bitch Denae Chambers (Susan Stokey), who hires loser salvaging duo/drunkard tag team, Colt Eastman (Ross Hagen) and Eddy (Dawn Wildsmith) to help her trek back into the caves to find the wealth of precious gems with which the obviously non-high-class monster was adorned.  Joined by the inexplicably “hunky” Andrew Paris (Jeffrey Combs) and the dandy-esque Professor Strock (the late, great Robert Quarry), the team wend their way into the well-lit subterrane and peregrinate for about an hour or so.

Fred Olen Ray’s The Phantom Empire is actually the second (quasi) remake of the 1935 serial of the same name.  The first was on the 1979 NBC series “Cliffhangers!” (which is bafflingly unavailable on [legit] DVD; Hell, even “Tales of the Gold Monkey” received an official release).  There, the story title was changed to “The Secret Empire,” but the heart of the story remained the same.  Part of a portmanteau show, it shared its time spot with “Stop Susan Williams,” a conspiracy story which was an update on the old Perils Of Pauline serials and the Michael Nouri-starring “The Curse Of Dracula.” But the Weird Western story was my favorite, and the show did what it was designed to do; It kept me coming back every week.  I haven’t seen the television show since it originally aired, but I did recently view a condensation of the original version of the “Empire” story, and aside from the plot device of making sure Gene Autry made it back to the Radio Ranch every episode to do his live show and the natural structure of the serial format (all peaks, no valleys), it’s not bad.  Thankfully, Ray does acknowledge his influences with a passing line from the only cowgirl in the film, Eddy.

And since Mr. Ray clearly loves women (or certain parts of women at the absolute minimum), let’s talk for a moment about gender in this movie.  The film exists in a man’s world.  Eddy, Colt’s partner is masculinized almost to the point of actually being a man (I’m actually sort of surprised she never flatulates, eructates, expectorates, or micturates standing up).  The same can be said of Sybil Danning’s Alien Queen, but she at least expresses a sexual interest in Andrew, despite her being physically superior to every man and woman in the cast.  Yet as a sexual being, the Queen is dependent on machines, thus she is a direct threat to masculinity but is incapable of fulfilling her own sexual needs without artificial assistance and ergo, is incomplete.  On the opposite end of the spectrum is the Cave Bunny (Michelle Bauer), who is a sexual submissive in every aspect.  She is busty, partially clothed, and cowers, constantly hoping to make the men (or at least Andrew) happy.  Plus, she can’t speak, so there is no doubt left as to her fetishization as a perfect sexual receptacle for men.

Denae’s sexuality is closer to having an actual arc throughout the film, and I actually found it sort of interesting to follow it through.  She begins the story as an ice queen, literally wearing furs.  She is remote, controlling, and is only included in the male-dominated expedition because she has the money to fund it (in essence, a form of solicitation for sex because she cannot attract a man).  Once she meets Andrew and enters the caverns, her sexuality is ignited.  She still is unworthy of a man’s love, but she has been instilled with the desire to be so.  The further into the Earth (read: womb) she travels, the hotter she literally becomes, until she reaches the center, where there is even an active volcano spewing lava into the air, the pinnacle of sexual release imagery in the film.  The center of the Earth is also a prehistoric throwback, a complete delivery from the modern/society-enforced sexual norms and mores which have constrained her up to this point in her life.  When she re-emerges from the vaginal cave opening and seals it with an orgasmic, climactic explosion, she is reborn in a more sexually normative (but not necessarily progressive) form.  You know, if you’re looking for that type of thing in a film like this.

But let’s be honest with each other; I don’t believe anyone has ever watched a Fred Olen Ray film, nor do I believe that Mr. Ray has ever produced a film, with any intention other than to pass the time staring at the exploitable elements.  This is cinema heaven-sent for the beer-and-pizza set, and there’s nothing wrong with that, in and of itself.  However, a film needs to be entertaining, and the one thing this movie isn’t, at its heart, is entertaining.  The characters seem to act however they have been written to in order to get any given scene from Point A to Point B (and the scenes themselves typically linger on for far too long in an obvious attempt at padding the runtime).  Consequently, their behavior vacillates from being likable and heroic to being boorish and irritating at various points.  You can argue that this sort of inconsistency provides the verisimilitude of greater depth, but really it’s just time passing by that you feel, and who wouldn’t prefer to be knocked out for a root canal?

MVT:  the best thing about the film, aside from the pulchritude and tight jeans on display, is the stop-motion dinosaur effects which Ray lifted from the (equally drab) Planet Of The Dinosaurs.  But at the very least, that film had the benefit of the skills of Doug Beswick and Jim Danforth.  Fred Olen Ray apparently had a Starlog catalog and access to this stock footage.

Make Or Break:  The Break is the monotony of the characters walking and running through the caverns ceaselessly.  Not only does it make the whole affair drag on, but I literally started to recognize certain sections of the caves.  It’s like a bad porn set, but made by nature rather than carpenters.  Plus, the rocks have more personality than any of the characters standing next to them.

Score:  4/10           

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Cyclone (1987)

The Cyclone the title is referring to is a motorcycle created by Rick Davenport (Jeffrey Combs) that doubles as a military weapon. It’s equipped with lasers, guns and six rockets. It can reach unimaginable speeds and perform practically any stunt. Even the helmet is decked out. It comes with a radar system that speaks and it also shoots lasers. It’s like a ten year old’s wet dream come true!

Making that wet dream even better is Teri Marshall (Heather Thomas), Jeffrey’s girlfriend. She doesn’t know of his government job. She soon discovers when two punks, Rolf (Dar Robinson) and Hanna (Dawn Wildsmith), stab him in the back of the neck with an ice pick while they were out at the club. They’re hired goons of Bosarian (Martin Landau, having fun chewing up the scenery), who wants the transformer to the Cyclone to sell. Why he wouldn’t want the whole bike is beyond me.

While this sounds like a ton of fun, and certainly is at times, it’s not quite the enjoyable experience I was hoping for. The Cyclone doesn’t get used to it’s full potential until the finale. It races around town for a bit (in quite a few montages that drag a bit) and gets in a wicked car chase at one point. But, the lasers and rockets and whatnot don’t get busted out until near the end. I understand why Fred Olen Ray did this. He was building up the suspense and hitting the money shot at the end. While I respect this decision, I feel he stumbled a bit on the way there.

The main issue with “Cyclone” is that it can be boring. A lot of the dialogue can be atrocious and I found some talk heavy scenes to drag. For a film that’s only eighty-three minutes long, it sure has a lot of padding. I’ll give credit to the actors; they do their best with the material. Heather Thomas can be a bit flaky at times, but she handles herself well and is the camera’s best friend. Jeffrey Combs is quite charming in his brief role as her boyfriend and the two surprisingly have chemistry together. Dar Robinson is a hoot as Rolf, while Landau is fun to watch as his boss.

Olen Ray adds some comic relief in the form of two bumbling cops played by Tim Conway, Jr. and Michael Reagan. While they do score some laughs (them falling asleep while on a stakeout made me chuckle), they felt woefully out of place. They add nothing to the story and only waste time. I’m not so sure if Fred was filling dead air or if he just wanted the two of them in his film. It’s quite possible the latter is the case and he penned them in at the last minute.

I need to quit bitching and moaning! While I had my fair share of issues with “Cyclone”, I also had my fair share of fun with it. Though the action sequences only appear sporadically, they deliver on the goods. Olen Ray doesn’t hold back in the finale and goes balls to the wall (replete with a gargantuan amount of explosions). I just wish the road there wasn’t so bumpy.

MVT: Heather Thomas. She may have been flaky in spots, but she was good overall and held her own. She played the eye candy up to the camera, but handled herself well when it came to the action. She was a good choice for the role.

Make or Break: The finale. It saved the film for me. Honorable mention goes to the car chase in the middle, where the goons’ car gets ripped in half.

Final Score: 6/10