the baby schlock rapid fire

Imagine if you took that flat, over-lit look of a 1970s sitcom and inserted the most twisted, bizarre scenario you could come up with? The disconcerting result would be The Baby, directed by TV veteran Ted Post, about a family of three scheming women who keep a 20-year-old man-child locked up in a crib. The storyline is unusual enough on its own, but combined with Post’s deadpan visual style (or anti-style) is becomes flat-out disturbing, yet compulsively watchable.

Although it’s rated PG, The Baby dances around more images of child abuse, overt sexuality and emotional torture than a David Lynch film. Yet it’s the nuanced performance by former ‘50s starlet Ruth Roman as Baby’s mother, who rules her family like a matriarchal Marlon Brando, that you’ll remember most. Not unlike 1968’s Spider Baby, the Wadsworth’s family ties create a web that hopelessly traps anyone who tries to break them up. The Baby stands alone as one of the most surreal movie experiences of the 1970s.

Arrow Video's new Blu-ray includes viewing options for both a widescreen and TV aspect ratio, a new audio commentary and retrospective, plus archival audio interviews with Ted Post and David Mooney.

Equally absurd but with tongue planted firmly in cheek, Schlock (1973) is the feature film debut of John Landis (Animal House, The Blues Brothers) who not only wrote and directed this spoof of 1950s monster-on-the-loose flicks but also stars as the titular missing link, complete with a custom-made gorilla suit designed by future Oscar winning make-up man Rick Baker. Leaving a trail of dead bodies and banana peels, Schlock runs afoul of all the hazards of modern life, including a tragic infatuation with a blind girl who thinks he's nothing more than an unusually affectionate dog.

A strung out series of pass-fail comedy sketches, Schlock is patently ridiculous from start to finish. But Landis' sense of humor - and love of the horror / sci-fi genre - is on full display, with gags that pop up in many of his later films, as well as those of future collaborators Zucker / Abrahams / Zucker (the famous "Don't call me, Shirley" line from Airplane appears his in nascent form). Not all the jokes have aged well, but the Looney Tunes attitude irreverently power through a parade of pop culture references and genre cameos (key an eye out for Planet of the Apes make-up designer John Chambers and horror collector extraordinaire Forrest Ackerman.

Arrow's 4K restoration is nothing short of amazing with a slate of extras that includes an archival audio commentary and interviews, plus a thoughts from writer Kim Newman and a 2017 sit-down with Landis himself on the project's convoluted production history.

Ever since his accidental death on the set of The Crow, Brandon Lee has been the subject of endless "What If" scenarios. Son of the late Bruce Lee, Brandon had his father's natural charisma and good looks, but was still a work in progress as an actor. 1992's Rapid Fire was a rather obvious attempt to launch him into the Seagal / Van Damme B-movie action star category, exchanging gunshots and body blows with assorted generic underworld types, the sort of straight-faced machismo that was all-too common in a pre-Pulp Fiction cinematic universe.

After witnessing a top-level mobster pull the trigger on of his rivals, Jake Lo (Lee) is taken into federal protection and shipped off to Chicago to testify. But hometown cop Mace Ryan (Powers Boothe) smells a rat, saving Jake from another hit planned on the inside and teaming up to take down the bad guys.

It's really that simple; despite a draggy second act full of dirty deals and double crosses, most action fans only need pay attention to the set-piece scenes laid out by director Dwight H. Little (Marked for Death), pitting Lee against endless armed assailants. There's not much creativity on display (except an odd lovemaking montage that cuts between Lee's butt cheeks and a series of gangland hits a la The Godfather), but Rapid Fire is slick enough to compete with most of its early '90s contemporaries. Lee himself is just average, but, like a rock star whose legacy ends too soon, one can't help wonder at the possibilities.

Twilight Time's 3000-copy limited edition Blu-ray looks just as good as it should, with extras limited to the soundtrack (isolated score and audio commentary with composer Christopher Young) and archival featurettes, plus Julie Kirgo's liner notes.