Do you know what makes me so crazy that I just want to take this foot and put it upside of the head of the nearest human being, like I was Billy Jack rolling up on a scene of prejudiced locals humiliating and disrespecting the cultural heritage of the little brats that hung out at his old lady’s Freedom School? Can you even imagine what would cause me to turn my “World’s Sexiest Grandpa” baseball cap around like it was a fricking switch and roll up my sleeves like I was back on Iwo Jima, cleaning up the crud that kept me away from my lady for four long years? Maybe Monster Dog didn’t mean to cause me to take my two gunboats out of dry dock, but dang it, when the Devil starts sashaying around, wrecking all that I hold dear, you can bet your bottom dollar that I’m going to raise some hell! Read More

A lot of us guys who kicked ass over in Nam got a dose of that Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that good old sneaky Charlie was lacing their tunnels with. The severity of the PTSD seems to vary depending on the dogface. For instance, I got a fairly mild case of it. Generally, my symptoms consisting of yelling “incoming!” at the top of my lungs and diving under my desk at work whenever somebody rips a fart. Sure, it tends to hamper my upward mobility in the business world, but it isn’t exactly crippling. Plus I avoid a lot of stink, too. Read More

In life nothing is more pure than the sweet science of effortlessly bad Italian filmmaking! Relentlessly pummeling the viewer with its English-as-a-third-or-fourth-language level dialogue, jabbing with its cast of faded legends, has beens, bimbos, and talentless dudes vaguely recognized from other horrid Roman roundups before finally delivering the knockout blow with a deadly combination of awful songs, punch-drunk plot, and laughably over-the-top action, movies like The Opponent easily fill the undercard of your pointless life. Read More

As I watched it unfold, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it about a hundred times before. It seems so obvious in retrospect. A loved one gets framed up in some nameless banana republic on drug charges. A father can’t get any help from the impotent American embassy. His daughter is facing years behind bars in such a tough prison that the warden has the father beaten during visiting hours! There’s no one left to turn to for help! Except the teammates on his professional football team! Admit it, you just got goosebumps! Read More

So much of the Vietnam POW experience is portrayed in a negative light. There’s the obscene physical abuse as well as the unrelenting mental torture. There’s the inhuman living conditions and the years away from loved ones. There’s the uncertainty of whether you are going to live through the next morning or whether you’re going to get another meal. Then, even if there is a rescue mission mounted by a one man killing machine named Rambo or Braddock, there’s the distinct possibility that you might be one of the anonymous grubby guys who dies in the escape attempt. Read More

Heroes In Hell gives you an up close and personal look at the lives of a group of World War II POWs. It’s up close and personal not because you get to know the characters or you are treated to a day to day examination of what life in a German prison camp entails. It’s up close and personal because most of the freaking film is shot right in these guys’ faces! And it didn’t serve to build tension or give a sense of claustrophobic suspense so much as left the viewer straining to see around everyone’s big fat skull! Read More

What follows is my rickety and probably half-right explanation of Emanuelle’s film career. Apparently there was once a movie called simply enough, Emmanuelle. Released in 1974, it starred Sylvia Kristel as a French broad living in Bangkok doing all sorts of things that adults do when they get horny. Sporting such a powerful plot, the movie easily spawned about seven legitimate sequels. But this isn’t our Emanuelle. You see our Emanuelle is known as the Black Emanuelle and she’s a slut of a different color. Read More