Study abroad

In these films the hero has a long way to go (such a long way to go). Heck, he even uses air currents to get there.

However -- unlike Christopher Cross's beloved anthem -- he "rides like the wind" not to ditch the girl and "be free again", but to win her heart and loins.

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The Lost Jungle (1934)

Grade: D+

Now this was a weird one -- though once we discovered The Lost Jungle was actually an edited serial, things made a whole lot more sense. Even before we got into the thick of it, we knew something was up, as not every day does an animal troupe share top billing:

Yes, The Lost Jungle is an entry in that niche genre, "animal trainer as action hero". Have we seen more of these in the box? It feels like we must have, but 220+ movies later it's hard to be sure.

We don't know too much about Clyde Beatty, whose act seems to have become the template for all lion tamers and big cat performers. (He didn't originate the whole chair-as-defensive-weapon thing, but it became indelibly associated with him.)

Onscreen he's portrayed as a decent sort by the standards of the time. For one, he's a fervent supporter of animal welfare, willing to use fisticuffs against anyone who brutalizes his performers -- as we learn right away: when evil trainer Sharkey (Warner Richmond) brandishes a 2x4 and tells a tiger "Don't you start with me or I'll knock every tooth out of your head!", Beatty reminds him of the categorical imperative.

Beatty gets close-up shots, White Zombie-style, to signify the mesmeric power (animal magnetism?) that lurks in his eyes...



...though these days, it draws more attention to his hairstyle, whose meaning as a signifier has seen some changes in the last 85 years or so, from "manly man" (we guess) to "skate punk" to "Tom Villard". At least it keeps this jolly good Obergefella from being another IWGIH.

Of course you can't dedicate an entire feature, let alone a serial, to animal training and haircuts -- not even if you throw in a gang of gee-whiz kids ready to applaud Beatty's every move. Not even if one of them is Mickey Rooney!

So soon enough we get the MacGuffin, in the form of Beatty's girlfriend Ruth (Cecilia Parker). The two of them clearly love each other, no doubt bonding over their shared admiration for comically wide men's belts.

Even so Ruth, despairing of his obsession with the animals and failure to propose, decides to go on an expedition to the "South Seas" with her father (Edward LeSaint), a sea captain, and Professor Livingston (Crauford Kent). This expedition is in search of Kamor, a lost island that's allegedly the "real cradle of civilization" -- and the Professor will know it's the right place when he finds, we kid you not, "an island bearing the fauna of both Africa and Asia".

In other words: lions and tigers, in the same place. How conve-e-e-enient, as the Church Lady would say. That ol' lampshade got a real workout back then.

Back in the States, a heartbroken Clyde throws his all into a new, high-risk act that adds Ursidae to the mix. This gets his publicist pal Larry (Syd Saylor) a bit twitchy --

-- but despite Sharkey's meddling, things work out: this is a family film, after all, and could hardly bear a grisly ending for Clyde.

Condensing 12 chapters and four hours of footage into a single feature film isn't an easy task, and truth be told, the editors did a pretty good job of it. But there are inevitably weird corners in the narrative, threads that get dropped abruptly, and set-pieces that seem to have had a disproportionate amount of attention lavished upon them --

-- like Clyde's journey by dirigible in search of Ruth et al., who by this point have disappeared. Needle in a haystack, sure: but you'll never believe where he crash-lands!

Ultimately everything in The Lost Jungle is a pretext for Beatty's big-cat routines -- though apparently a couple chapters involved gorillas in some way, and we're not sorry to see those get left on the cutting-room floor.

While it doesn't end up making much sense, and the film suffers from a certain lack of charisma across the board, it has more than enough content to keep us from groaning too much as we watched.

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Colossus and the Amazon Queen (1960)
[aka La regina delle Amazzoni]

Grade: D-

Oh, great, just what the world needed: a "funny" peplum. Right from the start, the soundtrack makes it clear that something is askew in this one. A fumbled fanfare in the opening scene sets the tone:

Next comes a massive stadium fight, set to a hyperactive big-band jazz accompaniment, wherein Glaucus (Ed Fury) emerges as the last man standing.

Alas, his victory doesn't last, as his friend Pirro (Rod Taylor) sells him out to a couple visiting merchants. They offer to pay handsomely if he can convince Glaucus to join them aboard their ship full of strong men -- a task Pirro accomplishes by clocking him on the head (we guess, since it's not shown) in the aftermath of a massive, chicken-related bar fight.

Once Glaucus regains consciousness, he raises hell again, before Pirro sabotages the boat to convince him to calm down and go with the flow. Along the way Glaucus meets Sofo, the Egyptian, with whom he hits it off -- though Sofo clearly knows something he doesn't.

When the ship lands, the men's mission is revealed: to guard a huge cache of treasure against pirates, in exchange for a share of said treasure (allegedly obtained from natives ignorant of the value of gold). First, though, let's have some food and wine!

MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Derring-Do) would approve of this message, frequently seen in peplum: it never goes well when Hercules or his progeny get into the wine. And when a squadron of armed warriors arrives, things are looking grim for the unconscious big guy.

For these first fifteen minutes, Colossus and the Amazon Queen seems like a typical peplum at heart. Sure, the gods are absent and the tone is pointedly lighthearted (how could it not be with tubas and xylophones on the soundtrack?).

Still, we expected the usual fare -- even after the arrival of that most unwelcome of filmic abominations, an overdubbed talking parrot, who chides Glaucus as he wakes from his stupor: "Shameful! Athletes taking dope these days!"



Instead, though, we get a tired role-reversal sex comedy, as Glaucus et al. find themselves in the clutches of the Amazons, a society where women are warriors and men are worriers. Do you like tall skinny dudes in drag, chirping in effete voices about how they "just can't understand [why] I never seem to get my wash as dazzling as yours"? Does that prospect make you laugh your sides out? If so, this is the film for you.

For the rest of us, Colossus and the Amazon Queen doesn't really have a reason to exist. It's certain to offend some, and won't amuse the others, so who's left? People who like to watch sexually frustrated queens lounge around and drink wine? We suppose it's cheaper than doing the same thing at a Caribbean resort.

And now, since you're not depressed enough, have a screenshot of a couple of starved-looking bears tied up outside a cave. Score one for Mr. Beatty, who would never tolerate this.

But hey, at least the parrot almost gets it. Almost.

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Laser Mission (1989)

Grade: C-

OK, first of all, check out this title card, which couldn't be more of its time if it tried. We only wish we could show you the way it "lasers" onto the screen.

Setting aside the question of how the hell a film from 1989 ended up on a Mill Creek set -- is it licensed? Public domain? Was it even possible to screw up your copyright in 1989? -- the first thing that caught our eye about Laser Mission was the presence of Brandon Lee.

Thanks to some combination of half-remembered advertising for The Crow and a couple viewings of his father's films, we had the impression Brandon was some sort of 1990s emo kid, perennially brooding and fey, like Edward Scissorhands meets Robert Smith meets that international student who dresses like an anime character.

Well, not exactly:

There is a dash of Depp in there, sure, as well as his father who (how did we not know this?) had a significant amount of European ancestry. But we were reminded above all of the strong-jawed presence of Evil Dead star Bruce Campbell -- maybe with a dash of Hwil Hweaton in there too, especially around the eyes (and certain line readings). Plus, of course, dude is jacked.

Laser Mission is quintessential late-1980s straight-to-video trash, and Lee is determined to have a hell of a lot of fun making it. Unfortunately, he doesn't get much in the way of good lines: when he falls through a ceiling and lands on someone's dinner table, he notes how he "just dropped in to say bon appetit!", if that gives you a sense of the caliber of writing we're dealing with here.

The other "name" actor is Ernest Borgnine, who sports a threadbare Russian accent, doesn't get much screen time, and seems happy just to be there. That said, if you'd told us there was also a cameo by Michael J. Fox --

-- we might have believed you.

The makers of Laser Mission seem to have taken "cheap name recognition" as their watchword, as they hired David Knopfler -- the other Dire Strait -- to compose the music, but apparently didn't pay him for more than one song.

So if you somehow fail to pick up on what Lee's character Michael Gold does for a living, the soundtrack is happy to fill you in, as almost anytime there's music in Laser Mission, you've got Knopfler's strained, Señor Cardgage-esque voice, chuntering away:

He's a mercenary man
Mercenary man
Mercenary man
Yeah, mercenary man

It's another earworm, but only through sheer repetition, from opening credits to ending credits. We even hear the little, faux-flamenco nylon-string guitar interlude multiple times.

The MacGuffin in Laser Mission is a huge diamond that can be used to build a superweapon, and if your brain hasn't been taken over by "Mercenary man..." you can probably guess why Borgnine has a Russian accent, and why Gold's pursuing him. Like many MMs, Gold is a master of disguise, transforming himself into Latin American stereotypes on a moment's notice:

He soon joins forces with Alissa (Debi Monahan), an animal sanctuary worker who's unexpectedly competent with firearms and vehicles -- a fact not lost on Gold, who asks the natural question: "You carry a gun and you're not afraid to use it. You can outdrive the best of them...Who are you and who are you working for?"

The response he gets -- "I'm hot, I'm tired, I'm hungry and I'm thirsty and I'm walking around in these high heels all day and I have blisters on my feet!" -- is petulant and defensive. Hardly the reply of a secret agent, right? (Right?)

But the bad feelings don't last, and their brief love scene later on (oh, c'mon, that's hardly a spoiler) is, blessedly, one of the few times we hear music other than "Mercenary Man" in this film.

Gold's merry chase takes him to Cuba -- where he nearly gets guillotined -- and ultimately to the fictional African country of Kabango, which we presume to be a stand-in for Angola. Logically enough most of Laser Mission was filmed right next door, in Namibia and South Africa. This leads to some absurd scenes in which Michael and Alissa get dumped in (we're guessing) the Namib desert without food or water --

-- and somehow manage to amble their way to safety. One can only imagine the smell, especially since, as we assume you've noticed, Alissa wears the same blue dress from start to finish.

Comic relief is provided by a wacky pair of conscripts, Manuel (Pierre Knoesen) and Roberta (Maureen Lahoud), who stay on Gold's trail throughout the film but never quite seem to want to pull the trigger. Roberta also has a seriously revealing wet T-shirt scene, leaving us to wonder whether Monahan refused and Lahoud was drafted to fulfill the first half of the T&A requirement.

What's left to say? The bad guys are evil, the hero invulnerable, and the actual Africans are relegated to cannon fodder status or, at best, given brief cameos (including Ken Gampu of The Gods Must Be Crazy, as a concierge who bitterly complains about freeloading foreigners).

It's all what you'd expect, doesn't make that much sense, and we can only hope Brandon Lee had a great time in Namibia, since he didn't get much time to begin with. Who would've thought Ernest Borgnine would outlive him by nearly two decades?

Can I do it until I need glasses?

And now, a pair of films where the growing hirsuteness of a character's hands -- and the rest of their body, too -- is a major plot point:

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Moon of the Wolf (1972)

Grade: C

Doesn't take long to figure out this one was made for TV -- and if the lack of graphic violence wasn't enough to clue us in, we certainly knew once it started fading to black at regular intervals.

Even so, this slight but amiable look at lycanthropy avoids most of the usual TV-movie traps. It's not too bland, not too pat, and occasionally even has a crisp edge to its dialogue or set pieces.

Moon of the Wolf leans heavily -- maybe too much so -- on atmospheric (i.e. muggy) shots of rural Louisiana, where it was filmed. Then again if the crew had to put up with that miserable-looking weather, more power to them for documenting what they went through. Friends of ours were victims of extortion by that state's infamously corrupt justice system, so we have no urge to visit that neck of the woods to begin with, and Moon of the Wolf did nothing to make a road trip seem more appealing.

Of course the thing about Moon of the Wolf is that the number of whodunit possibilities is really quite small -- two, by our count. It's the kind of movie where you pretty much know the identity of the werewolf from the start, but then you wonder if you aren't being tricked: maybe the whole scene (and it's a good one) with the sulfur and asafetida was a red herring, and it's really that other person.

Sadly, though, the filmmakers chose to go with the less interesting option. On top of that, if you speak French -- or are familiar with certain middling 1970s prog-folk bands -- then the film's suspense takes a hit, since the phrase that le Grandpa Joe keeps mournfully repeating in his sickbed (and other characters mangle as "lou-kah-rouk") is easy enough to break down.

Also, "AWARD"! That's right up there with a giant can that just says "FOOD" on it, or "POISON/SLEEPING TABLETS" for that matter. But after all, this is on the wall of a doctor who gets this gem of a line:

Sheriff: "How come you didn't tell me [she] was pregnant?"

Doctor: "I knew she was pregnant...I was third in my class."

If he'd gone on to recite his SAT scores, we wouldn't have been a bit surprised.

Having seen Moon of the Wolf -- which we actually watched after Queen of the Amazons and before Kong Island, but who's counting -- we've also furthered our progress in the Drive-In Movie Classics box set we plan to take on after the 250-pack. Why? Because it's on that too!

(At least it's not Shock or Snowbeast, which made their way onto both of those box sets plus the Chilling Classics set as well. Bo Svenson and Vincent Price, thrice? Seems Mill Creek likes 'em tall.)

Oh, and these dogs are dead now. Poor dogs; we hope you caught the squirrel at least once, each.

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Bride of the Gorilla (1951)

Grade: D

We had to be a bit coy in our review of Moon of the Wolf to avoid spoiling the identity of the werewolf, but there's no doubt here: Raymond Burr is a gorilla.

Or he's a man who becomes a gorilla. Or a man who thinks he becomes a gorilla, à la Nicolas Cage in the wonderful Vampire's Kiss. Whatever, he'll take anything that isn't yet another fat joke or Perry Mason reference.

Burr plays Barney Chavez, a plantation foreman in Brazil who -- as Homer Simpson once observed -- dares to live out the (South) American dream by killing his boss (Paul Cavanagh), marrying his wife, and taking his stuff. In the business, we call that "the triple".

Chavez's perfidy is quietly observed by Al-Long (Gisela Werbisek), a loyal old servant with a witchy side. This gets us curses, dangerous plants -- and Werbisek's astonishingly strong resemblance to Geoffrey Palmer in drag.

(Sorry, old girl, but it had to be said. Please don't curse us.)

In 1951, Burr's star was ascending about as quickly as Lon Chaney Jr.'s was falling, though their respective highs and lows were still five or six years away. Here, the affable old fellow plays a police commissioner who feels pretty sure that Chavez did the deed, but doesn't have quite enough evidence to arrest him.

Chaney's Brazilian cop speaks perfect English, upon which Bride of the Gorilla hangs a lampshade by having him give the following hilarious speech about halfway through:

"I sometimes regret that I went to university, and then returned to this jungle with its superstitions. It only served to confuse me...How could I help being confused? My native mind is filled with these superstitions. My legal mind was developed through books, written by people without emotion."

Coming from a different actor -- say Raul Julia, or Klaus Kinski -- it might almost be plausible, but from Chaney's lips, these lines play like ground beef dropped onto a concrete floor.

The most interesting thing about Bride of the Gorilla is that it somehow feels about five years ahead of its time. Hard to pin down exactly why that is, but we were surprised to remind ourselves that it came out as early as 1951.

It also has a few loopy moments, like when the genteel Dr. Viet (Tom Conway) wants to warn Chavez's coneboobiferous wife Dina about his deterioration. (Dina is played by Barbara Payton, and boy, her life is a cautionary tale if one there ever was.)

Servant girl Larina (Carol Varga) opens the door for Dr. Viet and is hanging around, eavesdropping. But when he asks to speak with Dina alone, she abruptly gets an "Oh, what the fuck!" look on her face, smashes an object on the ground, apologizes -- and leaves, never to be seen again.

Now, we know Larina and Barney had a thing before he threw her over for Dina -- but why would a private conversation between Dina and Dr. Viet make her explode with rage? If anything she might hope that Viet, whose attraction to Dina is obvious (and unrequited), would somehow drive a wedge between them. Oh, well.

Anyway, that's Bride of the Gorilla: yet another "jungle" movie, it's not so goofy as to leave us embarrassed for anyone involved, but not compelling enough to graduate beyond the doldrums. Still, we've certainly seen worse, and Burr has a sort of smoldering, dark-eyed presence that makes him a pretty plausible antihero (even if the only "heroic" thing he does is making time to be nice to goats).

So, welcome to the jungle, Raymond -- but somehow we suspect you've been here before.