Evilspeak (1981)

I’ve often said, and I maintain that I’m correct in this, that I have never been what anyone would consider cool.  I don’t say this to be humble or to be self-effacing or to be hip by being square.  I say it because this has been the accumulation of my experiences in my life.  I am too antiestablishment for establishment people.  I am too establishment for antiestablishment people.  I am too conservative for liberals.  I am too liberal for conservatives.  I am too smart for the low brows.  I am too dumb for the high brows.  Hell, I rode a skateboard for a few years and never even learned to Ollie (yeah, I was that kid).  Consequently, it has always been a very rare thing for me to feel like I truly belong anywhere, and so I’m usually not comfortable in most public situations (that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it).  Don’t misunderstand; I don’t think that this makes me unique in any way, shape, or form (if anything, it should simply make me average, but our own problems are always bigger and crummier than other people’s, right?).  In fact, I think the vast majority of us have felt this way at one time or another, and it is precisely the reason why we love films about underdogs and about outcasts taking revenge on their tormentors.  Even people who have always seemingly been “on top” enjoy movies like these, because deep, deep down (cue the Danger: Diabolik soundtrack) they have insecurities on which these films touch.  Plus, the very act of growing up ensures that, at some point in their youth, damned near everyone has felt less powerful than someone else.  Movies like Eric Weston’s Evilspeak resonate with that ingrained, possibly even buried, crack in people’s psyches.  If you’re human, you identify on some level with characters like Stanley Coopersmith (Clint Howard).  You probably haven’t gone to the extremes that he and his classmates do, however, but you understand why these events transpire.

Lorenzo Esteban (Richard Moll) is your average sixteenth century heretic who gets drummed out of Spain for turning his flock on to Satanism and human sacrifices (and who immediately performs a black mass in protest).  Via a pretty clever form cut we are transported to contemporary California, where the boys of the West Andover Military Academy have lost yet another soccer match because Stanley (whom they call “Cooperdick”) is incompetent at the sport (and having nothing at all to do with their goalie being absolutely awful).  Stanley endures the steady stream of threats and abuse, both emotional and physical, from his classmates and superiors in equal measure as best he can.  Inevitably, he comes upon the writings of Esteban in the school basement (maybe sub-basement, but who’s counting?), and, with the help of a purloined school computer, translates the how-to manual for his occult revenge.

The interesting thing that Evilspeak does is it incorporates the then-burgeoning world of computers (or at least I personally knew of very few people who owned a home PC at that time) with the world of occult horror.  In this filmic world, as in so many, technology becomes conflated with evil, even though Stanley’s computer is merely a tool, a conduit for Esteban, not an active participant in any flagitious behavior.  That said, it becomes a metaphor (not the most cogent in the way that it’s handled in the film, but still…) for technology in modern life.  In much the same way that science fiction films of the Fifties and into the Sixties warned us not to meddle with nature because of the dire results to be wrought, this film warns us that technology, for as much as it makes certain things in our lives easier (translating black mass rituals, for example), also presents us with additional temptations that, if allowed to go unchecked, could consume our lives.  Bring this notion into the twenty-first century.  A great many people today can’t go even a day without their computers, their smartphones, and so forth.  Rather than engage in actual human conversations, many kids have abbreviation-loaded chats (even when sitting inches from the person they’re talking with) where any conflicts are devoid of actual discomfort because of the disconnect inherent in the medium.  Naturally, this makes neither texting nor these kids “evil.”  But what it does do is insidiously detaches them from the real world where real people deal with real emotions and real actions carry real weight.  My polemic out of the way, Stanley untethers from the normative world in a similar way through his interaction with Esteban in the computer.  What starts off for him as a tool to help with a school project becomes a cookbook for evil, and it becomes Stanley’s obsession and his downfall.

Bearing in mind my opening paragraph, I feel that Evilspeak also posits evil (or alternately Satanism) as being a form of individuality (even though in this case it’s, you know, bad and leads to things like slaughter, madness, and such).  There are three people at the academy who don’t traditionally fit in: Stanley, his one friend Kowalski (Haywood Nelson of What’s Happening fame) who is seemingly the sole black student at the school, and Jake (Lenny Montana of The Godfather fame) who is the lowly, shirtless, neckerchieved cook who befriends Stanley.  You could argue that Sarge (R.G. Armstrong) is in the same class as Jake, but Sarge was in the military prior to his current state, and he sides with the others against Stanley, so this makes him an establishment figure (or at least moreso than it does Jake).  All of the other characters are conformists.  The very idea of setting the film in a military academy explicitly points to this idea.  Characters from Colonel Kincaid (Charlie Tyner) to Coach (Claude Earl Jones) to Reverend Jameson (Joe Cortese) are the ruling class.  They tolerate people like Kowalski and Jake because they are useful in some way (Jake cooks, and I don’t know what Kowalski’s saving grace is, but he must have one for the students and faculty to refrain from punishing him like they do Stanley).  For this same reason, they despise Stanley.  Stanley can’t even get out of his own way, often tripping, dropping his books, and so forth.  Whatever he attempts, he flubs.  Because Stanley can’t conform (not won’t; he tries and fails, and this is unacceptable), he is left with no respite from his abusers than to turn to evil.  Under Esteban’s computerized influence, Stanley finds something that he can do.  He distinguishes himself from the others at the school (even while aligning himself with a drift of pigs [Esteban’s spirit animal apparently]), and in this distinction he makes himself more powerful than all of them.  For a time.

Evilspeak is the sort of film in which almost nothing happens between kill scenes (unless you count electro-Esteban messing around with all kinds of computer-inspired animations and typographic designs).  As a result, you find yourself asking questions you really shouldn’t be asking of a film of this nature and picking up on the logic gaps and plot holes that run rampant throughout the whole thing.  For example, how do Bubba (Don Stark) and his cohorts find out about Stanley’s puppy without having seen it or heard about it (since I’m almost positive neither Jake nor Stanley would have told them)?  What school has a bikini pageant (dubbed “Miss Heavy Artillery,” get it?) for its students, even if it is a military academy?  How did absolutely no one ever find out about Esteban’s chamber and ancient apothecary, especially Sarge who’s been sleeping practically on top of it for years?  What was the purpose of the scenes with Mrs. Caldwell (Sue Casey) being escorted around the campus except to show us that she’s Bubba’s mother (a useless bit of information that is never paid off or brought up again).   

Speaking of characters, the ones in this movie are completely undeveloped.  If Kowalski and Stanley are such good friends, why do they never hang out together?  The adult bullies are irrationally cruel and don’t have a sympathetic bone in their bodies.  The student bullies are arguably even worse.  Kincaid’s secretary Miss Friedemeyer (Lynn Hancock) at least serves the purpose of getting naked during the film, but we still spend an inordinate amount of time watching her try to pry the medallion off of Esteban’s journal (assumedly because she thinks it’s either shiny/pretty and/or worth some money), and we learn nothing about her as a person.  Everyone is strictly in this to get to the big finale (or die beforehand).  Jones states in an interview on the Scream Factory disc that the film is a comedy, and I suppose that’s a good possibility, because it is so over the top, you can’t take any of it seriously.  However, if it was actually intended to be funny, I didn’t find much at which to laugh (this seems to be a trend in my moviegoing experience of later).  By that same token, the mean streak running through the film would make any intentional laughs uneasy.  The film is still interesting as a curiosity, and there are some standout segments (Miss Friedemeyer, I’m looking at you), but its deficiencies and that the filmmakers allow the audience the free time to ponder its deficiencies really drag it down.

MVT:  The build up to Stanley’s vengeance is the name of the game, and it is long and grueling.  The filmmakers put the cherry on top with the final insult, and I have to admit, by that point I wanted all of these pricks dead, too.

Make or Break:  The finale cuts loose in a big way, and it is oh-so-satisfying watching these jerks get their gruesome comeuppance.  Incidentally, the moment with the crucifix in the chapel scared the ever-loving shit out of me as a child.

Score:  6/10

Galaxis (1995)

Even though she was the star of the 1985 non-epic Red Sonja, which debuted months before it, I think a great many of us remember the first time we saw Brigitte Nielsen as being in Rocky IV portraying the icy Russkie, Ludmilla.  This is probably due to the former film being an absolute box office bomb.  Arguably, she made an even bigger impact in both Cobra as the icy cult target, Ingrid, and in Beverly Hills Cop II as the icy thief, Karla Fry.  Are you noticing a trend here?  Honestly, I don’t think Ms. Nielsen’s appeal was ever in her looks (though her chiseled features are certainly attractive) but in the underlying threat she poses.  Between her statuesque physical build and the forbidding demeanor she cultivated in her onscreen performances, I think the fact that she looks like she could snap you in half during the act of lovemaking is her real draw.  It’s sort of like how so many women (and men, let’s be fair) say they like “bad boys” in that it’s strictly a superficial allure, but holy shit, it’s effective (and also applicable to strippers).  I couldn’t say whether the same applies to people in regards to Richard Moll, but in William Mesa’s completely non-seminal Galaxis (aka Terminal Force aka Star Crystal) you can make the comparison for yourself.

The people of the planet Sintaria are besieged by the evil minions of Kyla (Moll), an interplanetary despot determined to get his hands on a special crystal that will bestow upon him enormous power.  Said crystal is in the hands of the noble Lord Tarkin (Craig Fairbrass), but after a valiant battle is waged, Kyla finally gains control of the crystal.  But wait!  It seems there is another crystal, and Tarkin’s sister Lidera (Nielsen) travels guess-where to find the second relic and save her people.  

If Harlan Ellison could sue James Cameron and Orion Pictures over The Terminator, than I would say that all three plus George Lucas could easily bring suit against the producers of this film (and the producers of damn near every Sword And Sorcery film ever made could probably get in on the action, too).  You have the very first scene, which is straight out of the original Star Wars, with a large battle cruiser firing on a smaller, less-well-armed ship.  You have the idea of an evil empire trying to crush a peaceful people who have learned to fight back with what they have.  You have the “advanced” Science Fiction character having to wade through the “primitive” world of modern Earth.  You have the character that slowly discovers his heroic side (kind of).  And there’s the idea, once again, that Earth is the fulcrum of the entire Universe.  It’s funny how often this is the case in films of a fantastic nature.  On the one hand, it’s the sort of conceit that seems fairly, well, conceited.  On the other hand, it’s cheaper than trying to build sets and create an alien world for a low budget movie.  Plus, for as self-involved as it is on its surface, it also touches on the idea that there is something innate in humanity itself which marks us as exceptional.  Call it the “human spirit,” if you like.  Of course, the veracity of this concept can be debated for years, but it is inarguable that it holds a strong fascination for the majority of film-going audiences.  

Two of the themes that not only Galaxis but also its progenitors rely heavily on are those of a normal person discovering their inner hero and the old fish out of water gimmick.  The Rising Hero has been a motif for centuries (for example, King Arthur and the sword in the stone), and it’s something viewers enjoy, because it touches on that silent longing everyone has that they can (or would; take your pick) defeat the villain and rescue the damsel, that they make a major difference in the world.  Of course, this can inspire people to genuine greatness.  But what it discounts is that we do make a difference in the world, it’s just that we’re blind to it, because we don’t feel particularly special.  It’s the whole premise on which It’s A Wonderful Life is based.  Similarly, the fish out of water is typically played for humor.  The juxtaposition of disparate cultures (and the subsequent culture shock) is funny, because of the reactions the proverbial fish has to what he/she encounters.  It’s only when the fish begins to assimilate into and interact with this foreign culture that they can (usually) get down to the business of the first of these two themes.  All of this said, this particular film, while having these elements in it, do little to nothing with them (what a shock it must be hearing that from me).  Our milquetoast hero Jed (John H. Brennan) never becomes half the warrior that Lidera (or Sarah Connor, for that matter) is.  Likewise, neither Kyla nor Lidera seem at all perplexed by what they encounter on Earth.  It’s as if the filmmakers saw the films they were ripping off, but understood nothing about how they work.  Naturally, it’s also conceivable that they saw these tropes and decided to try to do them differently.  But it doesn’t totally succeed if that was their intended goal.

Still, this is a direct-to-video Sci-Fi/Action film, and it does load the running time with the exploitable elements required for a hybrid of these genres (with the exception of nudity).  There are some quite good practical effects throughout the film, including a lot of nice miniature work.  The matting is sometimes a bit spotty, but you can’t have everything.  There are also lots and lots (and lots) of explosions, and they are impressively large.  The one thing you can say about this film is that for what it lacks in budget, originality, and plot and character development, it makes up for with its breakneck pacing.  Helping this along are the subplots centering on goofy criminal kingpin Victor’s (Fred Asparagus) pursuit of Jed and hard-bitten, overwrought detectives Carter (Roger Aaron Brown) and Kelly (Cindy Morgan, a long way from Caddyshack) and their pursuit of whomever is blowing up their city.  To call the execution of these threads unsubtle is like claiming that Rip Taylor likes confetti (hint: he really, really does).  However, if you happen to be a big fan of cinematic ham, Galaxis is a pork-filled, seven-course repast.

MVT:  For as commonplace as everything else in the movie is, I truly was dazzled by the effects in the film (all things considered).  Nielsen and Moll, less so.

Make Or Break:  The Make is the opening scene.  You understand explicitly how derivative this film is going to be, and you also get a taste of the quality level of the production.  It’s a perfect set up of expectations for a film of this caliber.

Score:  6/10       

The Sword And The Sorcerer (1982)

Texas-born actor Lee Horsley is one of those guys who look better with a mustache than without one. If you seek proof, just watch Albert Pyun's The Sword And The Sorcerer. Sure, he has some stubble, but his lack of a manly upper lip covering makes him look like a baby face. Contrast this with the television show for which he is best known (or at least the one for which he is best known to me), "Matt Houston." Not only was he a two-fisted private dick, but his constant companion was none other than Pamela Hensley. For those who don't know, Ms. Hensley also played the deadly ice queen, Princess Ardala, on the program "Buck Rogers In The 25^th Century." Not only was she a ruthless opportunist, but she held her own alongside such hardasses as Henry Silva and proto-Edward-James-Olmos, Michael Ansara. And she did it all while looking phenomenal in a bikini (yes, really). I put it to you, gentle reader, would you rather hang out with Pamela Hensley or Joe Regalbuto? That's what I thought. 

Villainous warlord, Titus Cromwell (we know he's villainous, because he's played by Richard Lynch with a Harpo Marx hairdo), resurrects demonic sorcerer, Xusia (Richard Moll), to aid him in conquering the kingdom of Ehdan, ruled by the benevolent King Richard (Christopher Cary). However, Cromwell betrays Xusia and raids the kingdom solo. As Ehdan falls, Richard's son, Talon (James Jarnigan as a boy, Horsley as an adult), is bestowed with a three-bladed sword, witnesses the death of his family, and vows revenge. Years later, Prince Mikah (Simon MacCorkindale, TV's "Manimal") and Princess Alana (Kathleen Beller) foment rebellion in Ehdan, but the machinations of Cromwell and his right hand man, Machelli (George Maharis), threaten to quell the revolution unless the adult Talon and his band of buccaneers (including the one and only Reb Brown) intervene and smash the tyrant.

One of the great tropes that the sword and sorcery/fantasy subgenre gave us (or if not gave, certainly cemented and made its own) is the concept of the specialty weapon. Prince Colwyn of Krull had the über ninja star, the Glaive. Hawk of Hawk The Slayer had a mental link of sorts with his sword. Dar of The Beastmaster had the collapsible (or spreadable depending on your perspective) throwing blade. In times when gun powder simply doesn't exist, survival of the fittest is won by the person with the most unique weaponry (because the other guys don't have it). More often than not, the hero has to spend part of his quest attaining this weapon before he can use it in the story's climax (and he really should use it in the story's finale for it to be satisfying). As I mentioned in my review of the abysmal Thor The Conqueror, oftentimes these special arms are born of magic. Their wielders, however, are not typically trusting of magic and prefer to use their hands or hand-forged steel, hence why they are rarely, if ever given a magical amulet or scroll or some such with which to combat evil. Yes, the weapons are magical, but they are represented as weapons. They have blades and spikes and harmful-looking accoutrements. Thus we come to Talon's triple-bladed sword. This thing has more gadgets and surprises on it than a Swiss Army knife or James Bond's Aston Martin. And yet, the thing appears to be the most unwieldy blade ever. The air drag alone would make you the slowest (and probably most dead) swordfighter in history. Nevertheless, it's endearing to us and we forgive (to a degree) its ludicrousness (nothing says antipragmatic like sword missiles), because it has become a necessary element of the genre, and it definitely has a distinct look to it.

The Sword And The Sorcerer also deals with the concept of birth and rebirth. Interestingly, it applies it both literally and figuratively and to both good characters and evil. Xusia is brought back to life, rising seemingly out of a sepulcher filled with blood. Meanwhile, Talon, as a heroic figure is born at the time he witnesses his parents' deaths. Later, some very biblical event occurs to him, which again echoes this theme. On a more grand scale, Cromwell is born as a despot as he conquers (read: kills) the kingdom's in his path. Mikah and Alana endeavor to resurrect Ehdan and restore it to its former glory through their insurgency (which is more than confusing, since Talon is the son of the former ruler according to the prologue and unrelated to either of these two). Cromwell thinks Xusia dead but later suspects that the damnable wizard is behind all of his current woes, and in a fashion, Xusia has, indeed, been reborn yet again. This constant cycle of birth, death, and rebirth parallels the eternal struggle between good and evil or even Rota Fortunae (i.e. The Wheel Of Fortune), symbolizing the recurrent nature of Fate. The Sword And Sorcery subgenre, like Science Fiction and Horror, is well-suited to this sort of motif. They are already, through their generic elements, divorced from reality. This allows for more deeply allegorical explorations and heavy usage of metaphors via these selfsame elements. How interesting it is that the more divorced from our everyday world the piece is, the more easily it allows us to discuss the issues of our everyday world.

It is a generally accepted rule of storytelling in general and screenwriting in particular that a tale cannot be rife with coincidences. One is acceptable, but adding more, you run the risk of making the whole yarn feel arbitrary. After all, why should the hero have to accomplish anything when some coincidence, Deus Ex Machine, what-have-you will most likely just pop up and solve his/her problems? And why, then, should you give a shit? Sadly, there are a lot of coincidences in Pyun's film, and they do detract from its quality. Characters just show up out of nowhere to lend a helping hand. Other characters suddenly have a conspicuous change of heart, when we've never been introduced to them at all. It's not enough to condemn the film overall, but it is enough to take points away from its score.

The scope of Pyun's film is rather epic. He is, after all, trying to create an entire fantasy world. Be that as it may, this is epic fantasy on a budget, and its effect on the overall enjoyment of the film is noticeable. For example, in the prologue, Cromwell has at least two large battles between his army and his opponents. We don't get to see any of the fighting. We don't get to see any of what Xusia (who we spent a nice chunk of screen time resuscitating, mind you) does in service to Cromwell. No, we get shots of the corpse-strewn battlefields, post-battle (and I would wager shot at the same time). In a cave, Talon and his men are attacked by a horde of rats. Granted, they are repugnant animals, and I would not want them crawling all over me and gnawing bits off, but this is a fantasy movie. They couldn't be attacked by some otherworldly creature? After Talon's men band together to spring their leader, we cut immediately to the same guys locked up in the dungeon. Yes, it's funny, but the elision of the action leading to their capture feels jarring. You feel like you missed scenes at several points (and some of which appear to be key) in the film. What intrigued me about this was that there were some action scenes that were nicely done, so we know that the filmmakers could pull it off. Nonetheless, knowing this and enjoying what there is to the movie in its current form, you can't help but crave to fill in these blanks. But isn't that part of what Fantasy is all about?

MVT: The special and makeup effects used on characters like Xusia are wonderful and half the fun of the picture. There are some surprisingly gory shots that really deliver, and the best part is, they always seem to come just at the moment you need them the most. Crafty devils.

Make Or Break: The Make is the credit sequence, when Xusia is raised. It's violent, queasily sexy, funny, and oh-so arch. When the sorcerer's "E.T." fingers start glowing, you know someone's going to die violently. And do they ever.

Score: 6.75/10
 

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