Captain Barbell (Philippines, 1986)

While our beloved Darna is the most popular of Mars Ravelo’s creations, she is only one out of a whole roster of superheroes created by the celebrated Pinoy comics author over the course of his career. These heroes range from the derivative -- such as the rubber limbed Lastikman -- to the deservedly singular -- like Flash Bomba, whose super power is having really enormous hands and feet. Falling somewhere in the middle of this spectrum is Captain Barbell, who, like Darna, is a transformational hero in the mold of Captain Marvel. Like many of Ravelo’s characters, Captain Barbell has been immortalized on film on numerous occasions, being the subject of two television series in the last decade alone, and, since his introduction in 1963, the subject of five feature films. The fact that two of these films starred Dolphy gives you some idea of the level of seriousness with which the character is typically treated.

1986’s Captain Barbell, however, does not star Dolphy, but instead casts California born actor Edu Manzano as the muscular Captain and Herbert Bautista as his spindly alter ego. Indicating that the film was something of a prestige production is the presence of Filipino “Megastar” Sharon Cuneta, who makes an eleventh hour cameo as Darna. Cuneta would have been at the peak of her fame at this time, thanks not only to her success on screen, but also to a string of hit records and a popular weekly variety series. Likely her appearance is a reflection of the mutually beneficial relationship between her and Captain Barbell’s production company, Viva Films, for whom she worked almost exclusively throughout her career. Still, non Filipino audiences are more likely to be dazzled by the appearance within Captain Barbell of a very young, pre-Miss Saigon Lea Salonga, who plays the wholesome love interest of the Captain’s alter ego.

Judging from his film incarnations, the rules of Captain Barbell’s fictional universe don’t appear to be all that rigidly set. In some of the films, his mortal alias is referred to as “Enteng”, and in others “Tenteng”, while at least one movie gives him the name “Dario”. In any case, he is here Tenteng (Bautista), a slight statured orphan doing his best to scrape by on the mean streets. In typical Pinoy film fashion, Captain Barbell offers a bluntly matter of fact depiction of hardscrabble urban life as we follow Tenteng through his daily routine of sifting through garbage heaps for items that he can resell in his business as an itinerant junk dealer. Unfortunately, thanks to his small size and timid nature, Tenteng’s daily routine also involves being shaken down and intimidated by the local toughs. All of this starts to change when a mysterious old man pawns off a rusty old barbell upon him.

Upon dragging the barbell home and cleaning it up, Tenteng finds that it is in fact made of solid gold. Furthermore, touching it magically summons the old man, who tells him that, by holding the barbell over his head and shouting the name “Captain Barbell”, he can transform himself into (duh) Captain Barbell. The film didn’t have English subtitles, but I imagine that, upon being asked what Captain Barbell’s powers were, the old man replied with something along the lines of, “Like Superman, but with a barbell”. Tenteng then goes into all of the requisite reluctant hero business, but soon finds his hand forced by fate: There’s a werewolf on the loose!

Better yet, once Tenteng has sucked it up and finally transformed himself into Captain Barbell (Manzano), we find that the werewolf is not just a werewolf, but a flying werewolf (and, mysteriously, one whose werewolf makeup looks a hundred times crappier when he’s in flying mode). This leads to an aerial chase, which includes an only-in-the-Philippines moment in which Captain Barbell, seeing that the werewolf is vulnerable to things Christ-y, plucks up a big old cross and flies after him with it. Finally, things come to an ignominious end when Captain Barbell catches up to the werewolf and impales him, using the cross to pin him to the ground like a God-punched butterfly.

Of course, this whole werewolf episode was only a first test, as soon Captain Barbell’s real Big Bad is revealed. She’s Gagamba (Beth Bautista), a slinky human-spider hybrid who comes complete with a crew of fright masked minions who look like they raided the Halloween section at Walgreen’s. Chief among these is a midget in a Tor Johnson mask, which is a real “game over” moment as far as making Captain Barbell just about the best movie ever. Gagamba’s scheme, whatever it is, involves kidnapping lots of school kids and throwing them in a big cage, which pretty much signals Captain Barbell’s complete disinterest in exploring any kind of moral gray areas. This isn’t The Wire, after all, and if it were, you wouldn’t be seeing Darna show up at the last minute to help the hero save the day.

Captain Barbell was reportedly a pretty big hit during its day, and it’s easy to see why. As potentially alienating as I found its instances of goofiness and slapstick, there was always something harder edged waiting around the corner to balance them out. Its horror elements are played for maximum scares, and, in classic Pinoy fashion, the fact that it’s essentially a kids film gives the filmmakers no pause in showing screaming, terrified children being graphically reduced to ash by Gagamba’s forehead projected laser beam. The result is a thoroughly enjoyable mash-up of lighthearted comic book fantasy and taboo limning exploitation weirdness. After all, the most dispiriting aspect of Western children’s films is the implicit certainty that they’re going to be bound to some constrictingly rigid notion of appropriateness. The Filipinos, on the other hand, may excel above all others at being inappropriate, which is a quality that is much to the benefit of Captain Barbell.

Friday's best pop song ever

Hatimtai Ki Beti (India, 1955)

Hatimtai Ki Beti begins with a title card that reads, “THE STORY OF HATIMTAI-KI-BETI HAS NO ANY HISTORICAL BACKGROUND”. So I can scratch off that particular avenue of research in determining what this unsubtitled Indian B movie is all about. Not that it matters, really, because HKB serves up everything I need with that amazing and possibly racist Satan figure pictured above. I mean, what better way to personify evil than with a bat-winged minstrel with male pattern baldness wearing a flocked leotard?

Hatimtai Ki Beti seems to be a sort of romantic fantasy adventure-cum-Islamic parable that exploits the added gimmick of celestial intervention both divine and demonic. Watching from on high as its action plays out are both Satan and Allah, each of whom dispatch emissaries to Earth to respectively hinder or help its heroine. That heroine is Roshanan, played by Chitra, a devout and ethereal young woman whose prayers seem to have a special path to Allah’s ear. And given the extraordinary degree to which Allah here comes through for his supplicants -- resurrecting their dead loved ones, freeing them from actual physical bonds, making them immune to fire -- it’s safe to view HKB as a strong work of advocacy for the efficacy of Muslim prayer.

Such blessings make it tough work for Satan’s dark angel on Earth, a young lady of sour demeanor who, upon her arrival, assumes a variety of guises -- your snake, your wizened old crone, your cooing temptress -- in order to sow seeds of acrimony among the mortal populace. This includes her attempts to poison the budding romance between Roshanan and her swashbuckling husband-to-be Salim, played by Mahipal. Further insuring her failure in these endeavors is her counterpart on the God squad, a more serene -- albeit manifestly judgy -- young woman garbed in regulation white, who does everything she can to set right what her malevolent opposite has disarranged.

Some of you who’ve been reading this blog for a while might recognize that Chitra was quite the leading lady of choice for Indian B movies during the 50s and 60s, with perhaps her most notable role being that of the off-brand Jane to a knock-off Tarzan in Homi Wadia’s hysterical Zimbo movies. Whether she ever made a dent in “A” list films, either as a star or supporting player, I don’t know, but if anyone else does, I’d love to hear about it. In any case, in Hatimtai Ki Beti she is startlingly young and lovely, as are a number of other Bollywood starlets who pop up throughout its convoluted story. This includes a teenaged Helen, who hoofs it up early on in an Orientalist number, Kumkum, who shows up briefly at the mid-point to participate in a tribal dance with a bunch of pretend savages, and Kammo, who has a kameo (see what I did there?) as -- I believe -- some kind of water sprite. The cumulative result of all of this nascent item girl pulchritude is that any male or lesbian fan of any of these actresses might walk away from HKB feeling like a bit of a pedo, so consider yourself warned.

In addition to its feuding duo of dark and light angels, Hatimtai Ki Beti seems to stress the concept of duality through the inclusion of other pairs of opposites. Roshanan has a haughty sister with whom she is rival for Salim’s affections, and Salim, in turn, has a brother whose competitive feelings the dark angel exploits to divisive ends. This inclusion of so many intermittently clashing characters in a Bollywood B fantasy also insures that there will be many people to end up chained to pillars at various points throughout the movie. The last to suffer this indignity is Roshanan herself, at the hands of what looks to be some kind of Roman Centurion, and her sung pleas to heaven are enough to finally bring down the totality of Allah’s wrath. The seas roil, the skies thunder, and the heaven’s themselves quake –- enough so that even Old Scratch himself is seen trembling at the terrible spectacle.

Whether you’re a Muslim, Christian, or just someone who’s spooked by creepy old blues records, HKB’s vision of the Devil is one that’s easily recognizable. He’s that grinning figure lurking just behind your shoulder, urging you toward the bad -- be it lying to your parents, cheating at Canasta, or having butt sex in exchange for Crack. Needless to say, that Angel on your opposite shoulder really has her work cut out for her. Hatimtai Ki Beti’s literal representation of this struggle, aided by cardboard clouds and cartoon sunbeams, makes it a joy to behold, no matter how incomprehensible the finer details of its plot or message might be to you. One unintended consequence, however, is that its funky looking, blackface-Fred-Mertz-meets-Manbat devil guy almost seems like a figure worthy of worship in himself. Hail, Bat-Mertz!

(This post is a part of Satan's School For Ghouls, a month long tribute to Satan and his hell spawn by the members to The Mysterious Order of the Skeleton Suit, a loose confederation of cult movie blogging weirdos of which 4DK is a proud member.)

The Devil went down to Istanbul

This October, the members of M.O.S.S. are celebrating Halloween with a month of reviews focusing on all thing satanic. My initial offering, just posted over at Teleport City, is a review of Seytan, the notorious Turkish remake of The Exorcist. Check it out, won't you? The power of Christ compels you!

Friday's best pop song ever

From the Lucha Diaries Vaults: La Sombra del Murcielago (Mexico, 1966)

The below is just a small sampling of what can be found over at The Lucha Diaries, a grievously time wasting vortex of Mexican wrestling movie reviews and info, all coming to you courtesy of yours truly. Enjoy!

********

The Blue Demon vehicle La Sombra del Murcielago is, like many great monster films, a tragic love story. On one side of its star-crossed equation is The Bat, a hideously disfigured wrestler who lives in a torch lit cave with a trio of slow-witted minions. Like his namesake, he's a strange animal. For one, the mask he wears is almost uglier than the horribly scarred face it's meant to conceal. It looks like a bat's face with scabs on it. At the same time, he's not without vanity, as can be seen from the bejeweled cape he wears, which calls to mind no one so much as Liberace -- especially in those scene where he rapturously hammers away at a large pipe organ (just in case the Phantom of the Opera references weren't already clear enough for you).

Ubiquitous lucha film go-to guy and all around good sport Fernando Oses essays the role of The Bat, and it's quite a broad performance, constantly careening the short distance back and forth between tortured contortions, hallucinatory rants and megalomaniacal tantrums. I just got finished raving about Oses in Baron Brakola, but in my mind right now I'm handing him an imaginary lucha movie Oscar for this one.

At the receiving end of The Bat's affections is Marta Romano in the role of night club chanteuse "Marta". We get to see Marta perform several numbers, and you could be forgiven for thinking you were watching Lypsinka. There's just something about her appearance (enormous wig, eye lashes) and mannerisms (histrionic, femme without being feminine) that scream tranny. Sadly, Marta doesn't return The Bat's affections, which is a shame, because they're both the campest things within miles. You'd think they'd want to support each other through the coming career dry spell, since Pedro Almodovar wouldn't be making films for another 20 years.

As it is, The Bat has no choice but to kidnap Marta and throw her in his dungeon so he can force her to watch him in rigged wrestling matches with the captive luchadores that his minions have wrangled for him. It's kind of like going to Phil Spector's house, except instead of the wrestling, he'd just make you listen to "To Know Him is to Love Him" over and over again. Fortunately, Blue Demon just happens to drive by at a key moment -- in a car with a broken tail light, no less (oh, Vergara Productions! Couldn't you have just cut corners with some more stock footage and at least given Blue a decent car?) -- and joins with Marta's creepy boyfriend to effect her rescue.

All considered, this is an amusing entry, with some odd hocus-pocus -- an old witch, a Mandrake root with boobs whose significance I couldn't quite divine -- thrown in to provide some color. It's another one where Blue doesn't show up until pretty late in the proceedings, but with Oses and Romano ravenously inhaling the scenery as they are, his absence isn't felt too acutely.

Friday's best pop song ever

4DK on P2K: Scoring the Scores

David Foster, master of the fine blog Permission to Kill and a fellow acolyte of the skeleton suit, recently polled the members of M.O.S.S., asking each of us to list and comment upon our favorite movie soundtracks. The result has been a series of fascinating guest posts over at P2K, so far consisting of the musical musings of Denis from The Horror!? and Andrew from Pulp Curry. Today it was my turn, and provided you haven't already been beaten down by my questionable taste in music, it would fill my heart with song if you would give it a look.

Black Lizard (Japan, 1962)

The works of Japanese Mystery author Edogawa Rampo (in private life, Taro Irai) have been adapted to the screen on numerous occasions, with his 1934 novel Black Lizard -- one of many chronicling the adventures of his master detective character Kogoro Akechi -- getting the film treatment twice within a period of just several years. Though difficult to track down despite the fact, the best known of these is probably Kinji Fukasaku’s 1968 version for Shochiku, a riot of camp psychedelia that featured a female impersonator as its titular femme fatale and a cameo by controversial author Yukio Mishima -- who wrote a stage adaptation of the novel -- as a human statue.

But there was another, earlier version of the story filmed for Daiei in 1962, in this case by director Umetsugu Inoue. Now, my only familiarity with Inoue is through the work he did for Hong Kong’s Shaw Brothers studio in the late 60s and early 70s, but that alone has made me a huge fan. And now that I’ve seen his Black Lizard -- just one of many films helmed by him during a period in which he worked for almost every major studio in Japan -- I’m happy to say that the flamboyant aesthetic on view in his Chinese language movies was every bit as much in evidence before his defection.

 

In fact, while Fukasaku’s take on Black Lizard is furiously modish and very much of its time, it’s Inoue’s version that seems the most ahead of its time and, if possible, the most irreverent. For one thing, he stages the whole thing as a musical of sorts, with random dance numbers and songs popping up just infrequently enough to jar our expectations. The female master criminal at the center of the story is this time around played by Rashomon’s Machiko Kyo, a star whose dance background well suits her for those occasions on which her character is required to break into spontaneous soft shoe routines, as do her black garbed minions.

On the trail of the Lizard is, of course, the crack private investigator Kogoro Akechi (Minoru Oki), here portrayed as something of a smug egomaniac who constantly refers to himself as “the best detective in Japan”. Akechi has been hired by the jeweler Iwase to protect his daughter Sanae (Black Test Car's Junko Kano), who has been threatened with kidnapping by the Black Lizard and her gang as part of a plan to get hold of the Egyptian Star, a priceless diamond. (Perversely, Iwase seems eager to see Akechi fail at his mission, despite what’s at stake, perhaps due to the detective’s tireless flaunting of his “perfect” record.) However, unknown to the men, the Lizard, a mistress of disguise, has already infiltrated Iwase’s inner circle and manages to snatch Sanae from under their noses with ease, setting in motion a game of wits between her and the determined Akechi.

 

Kyo’s Black Lizard evinces an obsession with youth and beauty and, though on the opposite side of the law, Akechi compatibly proves himself to be much more of an aesthete than a moralist. Indeed, the sleuth finds himself increasingly beguiled with the Lizard as her criminal genius is revealed. (In an opening monologue, Akechi opines that a crime can sometimes be “visionary and noble” and that such crimes, unlike brutal everyday street crime, can make the world “a better place”.) The Lizard, for her part, finds herself responding in kind, if with chagrin, out of a feeling that she has finally met her intellectual match. This blossoming love between these two self obsessed decadents is cheekily documented by Inoue in a feverishly red lit, split screen soliloquy that he stages like a romantic duet.

Relying heavily on Dutch angles, anti-realist lighting techniques, and Sunday funnies color schemes, Inoue gives Black Lizard a pop art look that would be right at home in the camp obsessed world of 1966, but which seems tremendously forward looking in 1962. He also shows a tendency toward Meta staging, such as in the numerous instances of characters breaking the fourth wall to address the audience. And this is without even mentioning the scattered bits of musical business, which seem intended more to mine the narrative for absurdity than to enhance it; Pivotal moments go unsung, while a trio of burly bodyguards, onscreen for just one scene, see fit to introduce themselves with a hilariously tossed-off sounding song.

As Black Lizard progresses, the cat-and-mouse game between Akechi and the Lizard increasingly becomes an elaborate flirtation, with each trying to showily outdo the other in terms of mimicry and cunning. This eventually leads to a climax -- set in a cavernous underground lair decorated with human taxidermy -- that’s a farcical riot of doubles and switched identities, making a mockery of any attempt on the part of the audience to keep track of who’s who. Of course, by this point, Inoue is likely banking on the probability that that audience won’t even care, which I think is a good bet. Like Inoue’s great Hong Kong musicals, Black Lizard is a stylish delight. If that comes at the expense of its nominal function as a mystery thriller, I think most viewers will forgive that as a crime both visionary and noble.

(Umetsugu Inoue's Black Lizard is currently available on Hulu. The Fukasaku version can be found on YouTube. People, this truly is a golden age.)

Friday's best pop song ever

Masked wrestlers vs. the Bermuda Triangle

My review of The Mummies of Guanajuato over at Teleport City was the most long winded I've ever written. The most absurd thing I could do would be to append it with a sequel. And so we come to my latest Teleport City review: of Mystery in Bermuda, the second film to feature all three of lucha cinema's biggest stars -- Santo, Blue Demon, and Mil Mascaras. It would also be (ominous music) THE LAST! Check it out, won't you?

Friday's best pop song ever