JFL

So much wasted potential. What’s the point of having a magnificent cast of leads (Cynthia Rothrock) and bit parts (Benny Urquidez, Tony Longo) and even relatively decent choreography when the direction, cinematography and editing fuck it all up. Most of the shots in the action scenes are too close-up, so the choreography and the actors’ physical abilities don’t have a chance to stand out, and sometimes the camera is even poorly positioned, so you can see that the punches don’t land on the body. Similarly, certain storylines in the screenplay could have been tightened up a bit and the result would have given a proper dramatic charge and the storyline with Cynthia Rothrock’s character would have been properly highlighted. The paradox of Rothrock, a former martial arts champion and leading American actress in the action genre, is that her fame and the longevity of her film career came from the kind of hopeless and shoddy straight-to-video American trash flicks that most western viewers associate her with. Those movies represented a drastic decline in quality in comparison with the phenomenal action flicks that she appeared in during the 1980s in Hong Kong, particularly the choreographically breathtaking Corey Yuen-directed Yes, Madam and Above the Law, as well as the action-packed The Blonde Fury. Though Martial Law doesn’t rank among the biggest piles of shit in her American filmography, due to its half-baked nature, mushiness and forgettability, it ultimately comes across as being even worse than legendary dreck like Undefeatable.

The supernatural and augmented breasts or a sincerely trashy attempt to bring something new to the VHS category of would-be erotic thrillers, which flourished following the success of Basic Instinct, but their creators didn’t have either the budget or skilful actors, not to mention the talent required to add at least a hint of eroticism to scenes with bare bodies. With Sorceress, Jim Wynorski, who also contributed generously to that subcategory, at least comes up with a playfully trashy upgrade thanks to the motif of occultism, which he bizarrely approaches with dogged seriousness, thus unfortunately and fundamentally throttling the considerable camp potential of his work. Despite the premise, Sorceress thus remains just another dull silicone flick that wouldn’t stand out on late-night basic cable in the ‘90s.

To some extent, this very bizarre project deserves praise for trying to come up with something completely new in the series as well as in the direct-to-video action genre. Day of Reckoning (nomen omen) is impressive with a lot of elements that don’t entirely hold together but definitely form a completely original contribution to its category and series. The only continuity with respect to the previous instalments is maintained here by the casting of Van Damme and Lundgren and the basic concept of dead soldiers resuscitated as the ultimate killing machines. In addition to that, however, John Hyams and his collaborators created a completely autonomous narrative that was clearly inspired by Coppola’s Apocalypse Now and concurrently made attempts at depressing existentialism, albeit in the vein of adult comic books drenched in superficial pathos. The set design, with its outlandishly stylised locations and the individual gaudy figures that parade through them, also bears resemblance to the comic-book framework. Fortunately, the production shows ambition not only in the level of the screenplay and style, but also in the action scenes. It thus makes full use of the fact that, instead of the aging stars who gave their all in the previous instalment, this time around the lead role is played by the walking, talking special effect that is Scott Adkins. Thanks to Adkins and the supporting actors from the ranks of professional wrestlers and stuntmen, the action gains an impressively physical dimension. Universal Soldier: Day of Reckoning features captivatingly ambitious and inventive choreography that works perfectly with the environment and the premise of superhumanly strong and resilient fighters. Larnell Stovall was given room to stretch out and, what’s more, the action scenes that he designed were created in maximum symbiosis with the formal preparation and shooting. Paradoxically, the film with which the era of ambitious low-budget action flicks culminated also became its swan song. Though Scott Adkins continues to strive to bring the highest-quality action flicks to viewers, he rather remains the last man standing among a dying breed of productions. Both John Hyams and Larnell Stovall were given a lifeline into the world of genre television productions and the Hollywood mainstream. With the collapse of the DVD market, belts began to be tightened more in the low-budget segment, which inevitably had an impact on the quality of the films released later. The last Universal Soldier was made at the height of a period spanning several years when, thanks to a combination of multiple factors (renewed interest in old stars, talented newcomers, a functioning international market and the attention of critics), American straight-to-video action movies briefly received some well-deserved attention, which positively motivated their creators and producers. Meanwhile, the lucrativeness of honestly made action scenes was sensed by others, who did more for the same money (like the competing contemporary phenomenon The Raid) or, conversely, dragged the concept of physical action and imaginative choreography into the realm of incomparably bigger budgets (Chad Stahelski, David Leitch and Tom Cruise). While in its time Universal Soldier: Day of Reckoning elicited high hopes for how American action trash could further develop, today it remains the most spectacular memorial to its category.

The unrivalled master of karate and the splits in his most iconic role, or the only thing better than Van Damme is a double portion of Van Damme. The film, in which he plays the dual role of separated twins who reunite in adulthood to take revenge on the mobsters who killed their parents, was made at a time when the Belgian actor had already established himself in American B-movie productions of the celebrated purveyor of trashy cinematic dreams, Cannon Films, and was well on his way to A-list heights. In addition to its ambitious premise, the film, which is set in Hong Kong, not only offered an exotic environment, but it primarily combined Hollywood craftsmanship with the stunt and fighting professionals of the then British colony. Van Damme had already collaborated with them on his breakthrough, Bloodsport. The iconic antagonist from that VHS hit, Hong Kong bodybuilder and martial arts practitioner Bolo Yeung, had an onscreen rematch with Van Damme in the no less iconic duel in Double Impact. Fanboy superlatives aside, however, it is necessary to admit that it is unfortunately obvious in the action scenes that they were the work of an American crew. In comparison with the best works of that era, or even just average Hong Kong action flicks, Double Impact turns out to be a rather pointless spectacle that is kept afloat primarily by its central double dose of Van Damme.

In his debut, El Mariachi, a labour of love shot in amateur conditions, Robert Rodriguez came up with a fascinating blend of Mexican narco-thrillers and American action movies. The indie film became a surprise hit in American cinemas and international video distribution, so the studio enthusiastically agreed to a more expensive and star-studded sequel. Desperado is a captivatingly stylish concentrate of Ibero-American genre movies, iconic elements of American westerns and formalistic inspiration from Hong Kong’s bloody ballets of the heroic bloodshed subgenre. At the same time, it’s deliberately designed to be a showcase for Latino acting talent – from European natives Antonio Banderas and Joaquim de Almeida to Hollywood legend Cheech Marin, the distinctive Danny Trejo and Salma Hayek in her first major role. American indie-film mascot Steve Buscemi and Rodriguez’s friend and fellow director Quentin Tarantino support them in minor roles. While critics complained about a talented indie filmmaker selling out to the glittering world of studio production, the film introduced movie fans around the world not only to the aforementioned actors, but also Rodriguez’s distinctive style, which blends exaggerated comic-book earnestness with grandiose coolness and an ethnically specific variation of trash genres.

Despite the numeral two in the title, Red Force 2 represents the origin of the Hong Kong subgenre of action films with women in the lead roles. And it was a grand kick-off, as it brought together two of the most prominent female performers of the day. Michelle Yeoh catapulted the film to stellar status and subsequently cemented her role as a literal and figurative pioneer of women’s emancipation in the testosterone-fuelled action genre with roles in Police Story 3, where she was Jackie Chan’s equal partner, in the first emancipatory Bond film Tomorrow Never Dies and subsequently in the Asian cinematic milestone Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. In her first lead role, she portrayed a tenacious policewoman who is tougher than Dirty Harry and puts all of the bad guys and her sexist colleagues in their proper place (mostly in the ground). Her partner was portrayed Cynthia Rothrock, an icon of VHS productions and a real-life martial arts champion. Under the direction of the brilliant action choreographer Corey Yuen, the film is a frantic mix of goofball Hong Kong comedy provided by guest stars with the film’s producer, Sammo Hung, at the fore and a gritty action thriller with phenomenal fight scenes that remain breathtaking to this day. The sad truth, however, is that the filmmakers evidently didn’t believe in what they were doing. After all, according to Cynthia Rothrock’s testimony, it was originally supposed to be an action project with male protagonists and was changed into an urban action film with women only because of the circumstances of casting, or rather Corey Yuen’s enthusiasm for giving her a showcase. However, the producers ensured the success of the film, which was ground-breaking for its time (though the Hong Kong tradition of female characters in kung fu films dates back to the 1960s), by packing it with popular contemporary comedians, who not only gave the film star appeal, but even took over the moment of destroying the main villain from the female protagonists. This element, which reliably enhances the degree of emancipation of any action film with women in the lead roles, was attributed to Michelle Yeoh, Cynthia Rothrock and their successors only in later films.

Though Jean-Paul Belmondo established himself as one of the leading faces of the French New Wave, he gained fame internationally as a portrayer of heroic good guys who bolstered the ideals of intrepid adventurers, while also frequently parodying them. Belmondo’s stellar image was in no small part due to the fact that, following the example of the legends of early cinema, he refused to use stuntmen and performed all of the dangerous scenes himself. The hyperactive romantic action-comedy Animal is a hugely entertaining tribute to the stunt profession and concurrently gives Belmondo space in all of his acting positions, thanks to the iconic dual role of the charmingly pompous stuntman Michel Gaucher and prima donna star Bruno Ferrari. Belmondo suffered several injuries during the shooting of certain stunts, including a tiger bite on his ear, but he also fulfilled a long-held dream and stood on the wing of a plane in flight. His engaging stunt partner was played by American star Raquel Welch, and several other period film personalities of the day, including director Claude Chabrol, appeared in behind-the-scenes supporting roles.

Police Story is considered an essential example of Hong Kong action cinema, but it is forgotten that this film established the genre’s enduring form. Jackie Chan, who worked on the film as the lead actor and stuntman, as well as the choreographer of the action scenes, screenwriter and director, already had a stellar career in Hong Kong at the time thanks to his acrobatically imaginative kung-fu comedies, though he had also made two failed attempts to break into the American market. Police Story was his spectacular comeback, with which he proved that he could surpass American productions many times over in the domestic environment. Chan thus combined the attractions of stunt action (imported to Hong Kong a few years earlier by the first instalment of the box-office mega-hit Aces Go Places) and martial arts with the urban police-thriller genre, while maintaining his popular image as a good-hearted hero and purveyor of acrobatic slapstick humour. The resulting film, in which a principled cop goes after an unscrupulous tycoon despite punches, bullets and bureaucracy, became a domestic and international sensation. It also established Jackie Chan as Hong Kong’s biggest living star and remains his most ambitious work to this day.

A timeless reminder of the era when blockbusters were spectacular in a carnivalesque kind of way and didn’t conceal their essence behind an attempt to be multi-faceted. Furthermore, Carpenter’s classic is a fascinating project that attempted to bring into the American mainstream the genre of Hong Kong fantasy flicks, which was revitalised there by Tsui Hark in the 1980s. Carpenter superbly captured those films’ carnivalesque exuberance and identically packed his film with practical special effects, physical action, horror elements and slapstick humour. In doing so, he concurrently subverts and boisterously comments on the classic image of the macho American cinematic hero by presenting Jack Burton, with all his pomposity and coolness, as a purely chaotic element that complicates rather than saves any situation.

Though the Roger Corman-produced Death Race 2000 remains unsurpassed as Bartel’s most entertaining, most biting and most timeless satire, his own independent project, Eating Raoul, is still a magnificently vicious piece of work. Inspired by the Ealing studio’s classic comedies, the film is reminiscent of John Waters’ later work, especially Serial Mom, in the way that it makes fun of its middle-class characters, conservatism, the American dream and, for that matter, the bizarreness of California. As the title suggests, the film unfolds mainly as a straightforward joke that does not aim to surprise or shock viewers, but rather to simply caustically incite and indecorously entertain them. In this respect, it accurately captures the personality of Bartel himself, who, unlike Waters, did not pander to bottom-dwelling tastelessness, but rather delighted in mocking conventionality, intrinsic amorality, concealed licentiousness and mainstream physicality with gourmet distinction. The filmmaker then takes the movie on his shoulders even in front of the camera, where he delivers another of his wonderfully restrained performances in completely absurd roles. As always, he is ably supported by the excellent Mary Woronov, with whom he formed an iconic duo in a number of bizarre pearls at the bottom of the trough of American low-budget trash cinema.