Alupihang Dagat (Philippines, 1975)

In the Philippines you need only call him “FPJ”, but, to outsiders, Fernando Poe Jr. might need a bit more of an introduction. One of the most iconic stars of Tagalog cinema, Poe was also among the first Filipino actors to seize the reigns of production for himself, producing upward of a hundred self-starring pictures under his FPJ Productions banner and others. Poe was also a frequent director of these films, the 1975 hit Alupihang Dagat being just one of many he helmed under the pseudonym Ronwaldo Reyes.

In Alupihang Dagat, FPJ plays Gomer, the son of a humble fishing village where the men sail out to sea and the women stay behind to dive for sponge. At the story’s outset, we learn that the village has been troubled by a spate of disappearances on the part of its seafaring youngsters. Gomer learns of this upon returning from an extended voyage, and soon sets out in his tiny skiff to get to the bottom of things. Eventually he stumbles upon the island hideout of a band of modern day pirates who, under the leadership of a female captain named Odessa (Elizabeth Oropesa, who would later appear in a considerably more buttoned-down role as the wife of Ramon Revilla in The Killing of Satan), are responsible for kidnapping and enslaving many of Gomer’s friends and neighbors.

 

As observed by Gomer, the pirates reveal themselves to be a savage and imbecilic lot, fighting amongst themselves for sport and, at one point, staging a fight between two randy male horses that, while foreshadowing a climactic moment in the film, makes Alupihang Dagat guaranteed unpleasant viewing for animal lovers. Eventually Gomer is captured by the brutes and put at the mercy of Odessa, who wastes no time in subjecting him to a series of sexually charged humiliations. However, seeing as FPJ is blessed with the chiseled features and powerful physique that say “matinee idol” in any language (not to mention that he has some truly awe inspiring sideburns), it is not long before Odessa has fallen for Gomer and freed him from his bonds. This act ends up having unfortunate consequences for her, and the film’s last act sees Gomer fighting to rescue Odessa from a vengeful band of her former compatriots lead by the ever-cretinous Vic Diaz.

Poe scores high marks as a director with Alupihang Dagat. He captures the day-to-day life of Gomer’s village with an affectionate attention to detail while making great use of the film’s rugged seaside locales. At the same time, there is a palpable air of melancholy hanging over these opening scenes that, even without the aid of English subtitles, communicates that the villagers have seen happier times. While I don’t have a broad enough experience of Filipino cinema to say for sure, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Poe’s downcast and gritty depiction of the lives of the working poor here was influenced by the recent work of Lino Brocka. The film then neatly switches gears in its final third to become a definitive example of Filipino “Goon” cinema, with seeming armies of mustachioed stuntmen being hurled this way and that as Poe and Oropesa let loose on some especially imposing looking machine guns.

 

Poe the actor also makes a definite impression here, though I have to admit that, for me, he was somewhat overshadowed by Elizabeth Oropesa in the role of Odessa. I must further admit that this is in no small part due to the wide assortment of short-shorts and fetish boots that the fetching Oropesa wears throughout the film, not to mention the fox stole that she at one point, for some reason, rocks as a hat. (Shades of Wolf Devil Woman.) I am not alone in being moved by Oropesa, it seems, as, soon after Alupihang Dagat’s successful run, she was picked to reprise her role as Odessa –- this time front and center -- in Mariposang Dagat. For those eager to keep apace, recent years have seen the actress reveal a lifelong ability to see spooks and predict the future, embarking on a new career as a spiritual healer and medium, so there’s also that.

As some readers have been quick to remind me, I am long overdue in introducing FPJ to the pages of 4DK. Now that I have -- and have in fact found the process quite enjoyable, with or without Elizabeth Oropesa’s booty shorts -- I hope that it will be the beginning of a long and happy relationship. Alupihang Dagat is a truly engaging piece of Pinoy pop cinema, combining a populist heart with a cineaste’s eye for style while at the same time never forgetting to deliver those oh-so-important cheap thrills.

International man of knowing stuff about things

Recently I was interviewed by Helena Gustavsson for the Swedish weekly ETC on the topic of spy films from many lands -- a topic about which you, and now Helena, know that I can go on at epoch-spanning length. The mercifully condensed results can now be seen here. Interested readers of the non-Swedish-speaking variety will have to rely on Google Translate, but I think the gist of it is still gettable. Njut!

Friday's best pop song ever

Santa mob tonight!

Tonight the Drive-In Mob is going to get all seasonally-appropriate with a Santa Claus theme. Fortunately for us, all movies concerning Santa Claus are of an unassailably high quality. Exhibit 1: Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. Science fiction or science fact? Fire it up on Netflix Instant at 8pm EST and judge for yourself. Second up at 9:30 EST, and also on Netflix Instant, is Santa Claus -- or, if you want to get racial about it, "Mexican Santa Claus". If you didn't see this movie as a kid, congratulations! That's just that many more nightmares that you didn't have.

As always, those who want to tweet or follow along need only use the #DriveInMob hashtag on Twitter. Be sure to check out the official Drive-In Mob site for all the details. Sleigh you there!

Kosmicheskiy Reys, aka Cosmic Journey (USSR, 1935)

Whether or not you’re a retro-future fetishist like myself, you’ve got to admit that the farther away cinema was from the actual nuts and bolts of space travel, the better it made it look. Despite some obvious nods to the scientific realism of Fritz Lang’s Frau im Mond, the 1935 Soviet silent Kosmicheskiy Reys: Fantasticheskaya Novella (The Space Voyage: A Fantastic Story) seems to model its idea of space exploration on the comparatively more prosaic earthly pursuit of travel by ocean liner, with astronauts packing heavy suitcases for their trip and boarding massive, streamlined “space planes” via gangplanks while wearing their Sunday best. This is a future I want.

Kosmicheskiy Reys was originally conceived by director Vasili Zhuraviyov in 1924, but only saw production in the early 1930s due to the urging of the Communist Union of Youth, who wanted a film to inspire interest in space travel on the part of Soviet youngsters. Despite this chronology, I have to wonder if some filming had not been completed on Kosmicheskiy Reys previous to that time, as, while a few silent films were still being released in the U.S.S.R. in 1935, the lack of soundtrack combined with the under-cranked look of much of the film makes it seem pretty anachronistic, sophisticated effects notwithstanding.

The film centers around the efforts of Sedych (Sergie Komarov), a grandfatherly scientist at the U.S.S.R.’s Institute of Interplanetary Communication who has decided that it would be a good idea to use one of the giant spaceships they have lying around to go to the moon, thus opening “the way to space”. For this journey he recruits the handsome young post grad Victor (Nikolai Feoktistov), not knowing that Victor has been recruited in turn by the Institute’s director, Professor Karin (Vasili Kovrigin), to put a stop to Sedych’s plan -- the stated reason being that Sedych is too old to withstand the as of yet untested rigors of space travel. Karin would instead prefer to continue launching experimental probes manned by hapless bunnies and kitty cats until he can be assured that such a mission would be safe for humans. Sedych, with all the impatient candor of a man whose mortal horizon is clearly in view, says that he thinks this is “bullshit” and that Karin is a “pussy” (admittedly I was lip reading Russian there, so those may not have been his exact words, but that’s the gist).

Fortunately, Victor’s teenage brother Andriusha (Vassili Gaponenko) is made from all the good, progressive Soviet stock that was so obviously in short supply when his turncoat brother was forged, and outs Victor to Sedych. Come the day of the launch, the kid then arrives at the site with a troop of his fellow scouts (I’m guessing these are Young Pioneers, rather than Communist Union of Youth scouts, due to their young ages) who physically prevent both Karin and Victor from interfering. With a cry of “long live youth”, Sedych then boards the ship to the delighted cheers of the children, though not before Andriusha can sneak aboard with him. Sedych’s assistant Marina (K. Moskalenko) is also along for the mission, meaning that, in this film, the first humans on the moon will be an old man, a woman, and a little kid. Whine as much as you want about this being propaganda, but that’s still cool as shit.

As indicated above, Kosmicheskiy Reys’ special effects sequences are ambitious and, for their time, impressively executed. Quite understandably, Zhuravlyov spends a lot of time lingering on them, and, for the most part, they stand up to the scrutiny. It’s not so much that they fool the eye, but that they so effectively contribute to the film’s overall sense of grandeur. The miniature work powerfully communicates the mammoth scale of the space ship, and the scenes of the astronauts giddily flying from one end of the craft’s interior to the other, despite a visible wire here and there, depict the experience of weightlessness with an infectious sense of euphoria. Finally, those scenes of the crew traversing the moon’s surface –- which involve a lot of buoyant leaping across crevasses and up and down peaks -- are realized by way of some really delightful stop motion animation work. Not that theose scenes look in any way “real”, mind you, but they nonetheless add a welcome playfulness to a film that might otherwise be weighted down by its solemn sense of import. (Though, according to Wikipedia, those animated sequences, and their failure to conform to the tenets of “socialist realism”, were cited by Soviet censors as the reason they removed Kosmicheskiy Reys from circulation soon after its release. Oh, well.)

Even with all of its pomp and bold stroke revolutionary allegory, it’s hard not to get caught up in Komicheskiy Reys’ enthusiasm for the human project of space exploration -- especially, I think, for someone like me who has childhood memories of the excitement that surrounded the original moon landing and the missions leading up to it. In the end, after a brief episode of peril on the moon’s surface, the triumphant cosmonauts return to a spontaneous parade and the adulation of an adoring public. Even the haters who initially stood in their way are now all smiles. Wesley… er, I mean Andriusha in particular ends up being the hero of the day, cementing this as a movie that I would have absolutely loved to death when I was a little kid.

By the way, Komicheskiy Reys places its action in the far off year of 1946. As we all know, a lot happened between 1935 and 1946 to distract us from the project of manned space travel (except for those Nazis, of course, who apparently sent flying saucers to the moon). But, who knows? Perhaps, had fate not intervened, we might have been shooting off to the cosmos in flying ocean liners during the Truman administration. Probably not, though. And, in any case, it likely wouldn’t have looked nearly as cool as it does in this movie.

Friday's best pop song ever: FHx2

Because choosing just two was hard enough.

Drive-In Mob tonight!: a note from the VP

The VP, of course, being Vincent Price, who will be the subject of tonight’s Drive-In Mob, starting up promptly at 8pm EST. First up will be The Conqueror Worm, which I’m pretty sure is the movie that the Ohio Players song “Funky Worm” came from, though don’t quote me on that. Second up is The Last Man on Earth, which will provide a nice point of comparison to last week’s Drive-In Mob feature, The Omega Man, which was, like it, also based on Richard Matheson’s “I Am Legend”. Both films are available from Netflix Instant. To follow and/or tweet along, simply use the Twitter hashtag #driveinmob. (Though, in this case, you might just want to watch along, as these are both pretty good movies.) Please check out the official Drive-In Mob site for full details.

Los Demonias del Desierto (Mexico, 1990)

Okay, show of hands: Who else felt a little empty inside after reading my review of La Venganza de los Punks, knowing that that would likely be the last they heard of the cartoonish anti-protagonists of that film and its predecessor, Intrepidos Punks? Well, it turns out that the threat posed to Mexico by roving bands of punk rock bikers who worship Satan and The Road Warrior in equal measure was greater than we thought. Because, while not employing the same personnel, 1990’s Los Demonias del Desierto (Demons of the Desert) follows the template set by the Punks films so closely that we can safely consider it a sequel in spirit, if not in fact.

Yes, it’s true; gone is the gang’s luchadore-masked leader, Tarzan. But in his place we now have the wild-eyed cultist played by Sergio Bustamante, Father Damien, in a performance that seems like a desperate warning to the future concerning Brando’s Dr. Moreau. And to be honest, Father Damien seems like just the guiding hand that the formerly somewhat scattershot punks needed, channeling their putatively youthful energies toward a clearly defined goal. That goal, in this case, is the overthrow of our corrupt, consumerist society, the method, apparently, being the occupation of people’s hearts and minds. By bullets.

Just how bad is this band of satanipunks, you ask? Oh, I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of one of its members SHOOTING HIS OWN MOTHER at Damien’s urging -- an opening scene that, if unsubtle, at least does an economical job of orienting us within the film’s moral universe. Later the gang will ambush a nice nuclear family on their road trip, then shoot dad and grandpa before dragging mother and son back to their camp. Oh, but first our lead punkette -- whose blue fright wig makes her look like she has a tribble on her head -- has to get sexy with the dad’s corpse, because Los Demonias del Desierto is just classy like that.

Fortunately for the punks -- or so it would seem -- the police officers assigned to their case are surely the two most elderly on the force. These are brothers Carlos and Tony, played by brothers Fernando and Mario Almada. Both Amadas are perennial stars of Mexican action cinema, with Mario especially appearing in a whole mess of narcotraficante movies. Clearly their reputations are meant to precede them here, because when we look at Carlos and Tony, we are meant to see, not two men who have clearly chosen on-the-job coronaries over retirement, but 100% stud material. To this end, we see these codgers effortlessly putting the beat down on hoodlums young enough to be their grandchildren and romancing a pair of beauties easily 40 years their junior. In what I’m guessing is a further attempt to bolster their manliness, we are also this time given a designated gay punk biker for Carlos and Tony to call “faggot” and “queer” all over the place; meaning that, like the Punks movies before it, Los Demonias achieves the staggering feat of making its heroes even more repellent than its villains.

Carlos and Tony’s ladies are named Linda and Julia, and given the time-saving requirements of Los Demonias’ skeletal narrative, we can be assured that, once we have met them, it is not long before their peace and safety will be compromised. And, sure enough, it is only in the next scene that they are accosted by the punks at a lonely roadside spot. Julia is killed, and Linda is taken back to the camp for later sacrifice. Once there, we see that it may be Father Damien’s in-house medium, Samantha, who is really calling the shots, seeing as she determines each of his moves via the draw of the tarot -- and is also responsible for dishing out the brainwashing potion that turns their young captives into mother-killing degenerates. No woman, however, is any match for the double fisted, geriatric power slam that is the team of officers Carlos and Tony, especially now that the gang has messed with their love supply.

Los Demonias del Desierto will not disappoint fans of the Intrepidos Punks films who come to it expecting a sleazy, ridiculous piece of crap. It’s just that good. My only complaint is that the musical score doesn’t reach for the same level of authenticity as that of Intrepidos Punks, which featured an at-least-trying-to-be-punk theme by the Mexican group Three Souls In My Mind. Instead what we get is a hideous marriage of synth and sax that could have graced any of Kenny Loggins’ shitty movie songs from the 80s -- all the more reason to hate these Demons, seeing as having horrible taste in music is the worst sin that a punk could commit. Other than that, the outfits didn’t reach the level of outlandishness of the previous films, but I’m not going to split hairs. I mean, why be a punk about it, right?

Money Money Money (Thailand, 1965)

So far my coverage of Thai megastar Mitr Chaibancha has -- as you might expect from a blog bearing this title -- focused exclusively on his work in action films. And while the actor’s background as a boxer made him ideal for such roles, his ubiquity during his brief reign necessitated that he be something of a jack-of-all-trades. 1965’s Money Money Money illustrates this nicely, showing that Chaibancha could carry his own in a romantic musical comedy as well as in one of his two-fisted adventures as the Red Eagle. (By the way, the Romanized spelling of this film’s Thai title is Ngern Ngern Ngern -- but before you take on the treacherous task of pronouncing it out loud, please be advised that, within the movie, it’s pronounced “Nun Nun Nun”.)

Money Money Money was helmed by Prince Anusorn Mongkolkarn, a popular director of the era who continued a long tradition of film industry involvement on the part of the Thai royal family, one that goes all the way back to the earliest days of Thai cinema, when King Chulalongkorn’s younger brother, Prince Sanbhassatra, returned from Europe with his first movie camera and took up filmmaking. (Mongkolkarn was the brother of Thai director Prince Bhanu Yukol, and the father of Prince Chatreechalerm Yukol, a well regarded director of the 1970s.) Money Money Money is a musical comedy that’s very heavy on the music, showcasing a wide cross-section of Thai music that ranges from the classical and traditional to the Western pop influenced. And from his handling of it, it’s easy to assume that Mongkolkarn had a sincere fondness for the subject. His involvement might also explain why one of those songs is an almost hymn-like paean to the glory of the king.

Giving us no relief from the tongue-tripping names, Chaibancha here plays Akkaraphol, a Western-educated young aesthete who is called back to Bangkok by his millionaire Uncle, Lord Hiran, to begin his apprenticeship in said uncle’s loan-sharking business. Sent to the village of Bang Ruen Suk to collect debts from the impoverished residents upon whose backs Hiran has made his fortune, Akkaraphol happens to see a local talent show, and is impressed by one of the bands that perform there. He is also impressed by feisty local girl Kingkaew, which is no wonder, as Kingkaew is portrayed by Petchara Chaowarat, the actress whom Americans might call the Hepburn to Chaibancha’s Tracy, and Pakistanis might call the Anjuman to Chaibancha’s Sultan Rahi.

These impressions combined inspire the kind-hearted Akkaraphol to impulsively forgive all of the villagers’ debt, and declare that he will instead open a nightclub in Bangkok where he will exploit the villagers’ musical talents to sensational effect. Soon he has allies in this project in the form of his sister Paradee (popular Thai singer Sumalee Thonglong) and her lover Rangsun (Charin Nantanakorn, another singing star), an underemployed music teacher who moonlights as a pop songwriter. The money-obsessed Lord Hiran, as might be expected, is none too pleased with this plan, and sets out to derail it at any cost. Thus Mitr and crew -- while mitigating the myriad culture clashes encountered by the bumpkin-like village musicians in the big city -- must struggle to ensure that the show goes on in the face of meager resources, crippling debt and the many obstacles thrown at them by the not-correspondingly-hamstrung Hiran.

Money Money Money is a pop film with the emphasis on the populist, although its politics, while manifestly heartfelt, aren’t all that strident. Still, it’s no less heartening to watch its climactic scene, in which Mitr and a crowd of placard-carrying villagers essentially “occupy” Lord Hiran’s lavish birthday party, ultimately expressing their economic grievances in the form of a catchy song. As for Chaibancha, his performance as the gentle and soft-spoken Akkaraphol is an ego-free one conscious of its place within a vibrant ensemble cast, always fading into the background as necessary when it’s a talented co-star’s turn to shine. Underscoring this self-effacement, the film pokes good-natured fun at the more screen-hogging exploits of Chaibancha’s action hero persona, in a scene where three idiotic thugs hired by Lord Hiran sport ridiculous looking parodies of the mask worn by him in the Red Eagle films. All of this really showed Chaibancha in a new light for me, making this film one that I think is essential for anyone who wants to understand the legendary star in all of his dimensions.

It being a musical comedy that clocks in at a full three hours and fifteen minutes, it can truly be said that Money Money Money is absurdly long, with even its epilogs having epilogs and subplots being introduced in the eleventh hour seemingly just to keep the narrative wheels turning that much longer. But, in its favor, you really do end up spending a lot of time with its characters. And at the end, when an MC steps onstage at Mitr’s club to present those of them who have married one another during its course, you really feel like you’re at the closing end of some lengthy family obligation, like a wedding reception at which no tradition -- be it the garter toss, the money tree, the throwing of the bouquet, the conga line -- was overlooked. Fortunately (and hopefully as with those relatives for whom we’ve endured that conga line) both those characters and their stories have proved endearing enough that we are willing to indulge them.

Friday's best pop song ever

Drive-In Mob Tonight: It's a madhouse! A MADHOUSE!

Charlton Heston is not only America's premiere gun nut, but also a helpful barometer of our growing insanity throughout the late 20th century. (In the 50s we cast him as a Mexican! In the 60s we thought people wanted to see his naked butt!) What better person, then, to be the subject of a tribute by the Drive-In Mob, that shambolic tribe of Twitter twits and wits whose weekly movie tweet-alongs have become the talk of all the finest salons.

Tonight's event starts at 8pm EST with Earthquake, in which God deals California the drubbing it so richly deserves as Heston chases Ava Gardner through the rubble. Second up, at 9:30pm EST, is The Omega Man, which demonstrates, to everyone's surprise, that Charlton is the missing link between Vincent Price and Will Smith. As usual, because I simply live on the wrong coast, I will be sitting out most of the first feature, but you can bet your damn dirty ape behind that I will be there for the second. And also, Soylent Green? That shit is totally made out of people, yo.

Both of tonight's features are available from Netflix Instant, and all and sundry can both follow and tweet along by using the Twitter hashtag #DriveInMob. Be sure to check out the official Drive-In Mob site for full details. Tweet you there!

Khufia Mahal (India, 1964)

The use of special effects in Indian films was one of the many things pioneered by producer/director D.G. Pahlke, who employed primitive optical effects to depict fantastical scenes from the Hindu religious epics during the early silent era. These techniques were further explored in the coming years by adventurous technicians like Babubhai Mistry, who used them not only in the production of mythologicals, but also in “Arabian Nights” style fantasy films and Italian Peplum inspired stunt films like Dara Singh’s King Kong.

Still, despite all of this practice, one could be forgiven for observing that these effects didn’t appear to grow all that much more sophisticated come the 1960s, or even the 1970s. This is in part due to the fact that, in India as in America, fantasy films were usually confined to the realm of B cinema, where budgets and schedules were tight and –- perhaps more importantly -- audience expectations were correspondingly low. As evidence of the latter, take for example 1964’s Khufia Mahal, whose opening credits boast a cavalcade of “Wonders” that include a “Flying Horse”, an “Apeman”, and a “Gorilla”.

Mind you, the credentials of Khufia Mahal director Aakkoo are not to be questioned where primates are concerned, as he was also the director of the sole starring vehicle for 4DK’s primary totem animal, Pedro, as well as a film simply titled Gorilla. But beyond the trotting out of various members of the animal kingdom, most of the movie magic in Khufia Mahal -- whose “Trick Photography” is credited to R.R. Ramarao -- involves crude double exposures that combine actors, boats, carpets, men in genie costumes and model palaces with aerial or undersea backdrops to make them appear, to those most charitable in their willingness to suspend disbelief, as if they are either flying or sinking. There is also an appearance by an awesome killer fish that, as its victim fights for his life, appears to be swinging from the soundstage rafters like a piñata.

Viewed alongside similar low budget Indian fantasies of its day like Hawa Mahal or Magic Carpet, Khufia Mahal appears to tick off a list of what were essentially generic plot elements. There is a wicked, all-powerful sorcerer (Sheikh) who, smitten with a beautiful princess (Zimbo’s Chitra), abducts her in his flying palace, much to the displeasure of her manly suitor (P. Jairaj), who, along with his comic sidekick (?), endeavors to defeat the sorcerer’s powerful magic with muscle alone. Along the way we have the aforementioned genie, who gets shrunken by the sorcerer and imprisoned in a bird cage, the aforementioned flying horse, and lots of magic auras projecting from people’s hands by way of someone drawing them directly onto the film.

 

Among Khufia Mahal’s more or less natural wonders is Hungarian wrestler and regular Dara Singh nemesis King Kong, who shows up during the final act to throw down against the advertised Apeman and Gorilla. The former is a fellow in an ape mask and a shiny black bodysuit, while the latter is a guy with no ape mask but a full-on gorilla suit. Way to maximize on that costume rental, people.

 

The fact that I have very little to say about Khufia Mahal itself shouldn’t reflect poorly upon it. It has all the naïve charms of most of the other crudely-realized old Indian B movie fantasies I’ve seen -- which comprise quite a lot by now -- those charms being considerable, provided one has a high tolerance for flying everything realized via dodgy process shots (which I do). Sure, there’s little that distinguishes it, and all of that flying about begins to blur together after a while. But, as with all of these films, there’s the added benefit that, if you nod out and wake up during it, you might actually think that you’re having some kind of monochrome, print-damaged hallucination. Then again, if you don’t buy my usual “Indian stunt films as cheap high” argument, I’m afraid I’ve got nothing for you.