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While the English equivalent of yakuza is “gangster,” it would be a mistake equate the genre with American films like Scarface, Little Caesar or Goodfellas. While those films largely deal with the consequences of out-of-control greed and fatal ambition, Japanese criminals play by a much stricter set of rules. To become a yakuza is to give up one’s very humanity, at least as it’s presented in Tokijiro: Lone Yakuza (1966) and Tattooed Life (1965), a pair of anti-yakuza films that drift into the realm of violent melodrama. After assassinating the leader of a rival clan, Tokijoro finds himself unexpectedly caring for the dead man’s wife, Okinu, and her young son. But as their relationship grows, the bonds of honor prevent them from becoming a true family. Attempting to atone for his past sins, Tokijoro takes up the sword again to save the woman he loves. While director Tai Kato begins his film with fountains of blood, Lone Yakuza quickly sidesteps the genre conventions. It’s a love st

The A24 aesthetic has emboldened filmmakers to stretch beyond the strict definition of horror.  Now you can make just as much of a splash stringing together psychobabble nonsense (I’m looking at you  Skinamarink ) as ‘80s innovators like Sam Raimi did with gallons of fake blood. But variety is the spice of life, and often these  elevated  experiences break up the formulaic monotony of mainstream horror franchises.   Terror Firma  (2023) doesn’t exactly break new ground; there’s a whole lot of low-rent Lovecraft fertilized with ancillary ideas from  Invasion of the Body Snatchers .  But director Jake Macpherson piles on the psychedelic imagery so things get just weird enough to be interesting.   While Los Angeles suffers from a small-scale unexplained apocalypse, Lola (Faye Tamasa) holes up with her adopted brother, Louis (Burt Thakur) as a last resort.  But his eccentric roommate, Cage (Robert Brettenaugh), proves to be an unstable pervert. Things go from bad to worse when Lola plants

Director Enzo G. Castellari doesn’t attract the same kind of attention as his fellow genre-workhorses in Italian cult cinema circles.  Perhaps because his films never went overboard on gore (like Fulci) or caught on with U.S. distributors (like Leone).  But the action scenes, which vacillate between Peckinpah-inspired slow-motion and whip-pan intensity, are cinematic creations unto themselves. Castellari puts his camera right in the thick of things – barreling down city streets, scuffling under the docks or right behind a shattered windshield.  There’s an energy to his choice of angles, a devil-may-care inventiveness to his staging that was an obvious influence on modern-day filmmakers.   A fast-paced knock-off of  The French Connection ,  High Crime  (1973) stars Franco Nero as Vice-Commissioner Belli, a wild-eyed cop determined to rid the city of Genoa of its crooks and corruption, even if he has to do it all himself.  He’s got an angel and a devil on each shoulder: Commissioner Scav

Horror is the only film genre that actively  tries  to make you uncomfortable.  So, the idea that any dimwit with a half-finished script and a couple gallons of fake blood can pull it off is not only a misconception, but an insult to those who take the genre seriously.  By way of example, Lucky McKee’s  The Woman  (2011) is a macabre social commentary on misogyny, motherhood and teen angst drenched in copious amount of gore.  While its predecessor,  Offspring  (2009), is just…filled with copious amounts of gore.  The two drastically different approaches to horror, however, make for a fascinating double feature.  And one of those rare cases in which watching the sequel  first  is the preferrable viewing experience.   Stumbling upon a feral woman alone in the wilderness, Chris Cleek makes the odd decision to chain her up in his shed and train her in the ways of civilization.  He also brings his family into the mix, involving them in the cleaning, feeding and dressing of his pet project. 

When the CGI era finally kicked into high gear, cinephiles were curious how the technology would hold up. Would we look back on early examples of computer-generated monsters as fondly as the stop-motion creations of Ray Harryhausen…or would it all be one cringeworthy experience after another?  Arrow’s new double-feature limited edition of  Clash of the Titans  (2010) and  Wrath of the Titans  (2012) is a good a chance as any to cast judgement, two films that not only tried to  re-capture  the magic of those early handcrafted adventures, but reinvigorate them with modern effects techniques.  And you know what…they both look damn good!   More or less following the same plot of the 1981 original,  Clash  introduces us to the sullen demi-god Perseus (Sam Worthington) who’s all for the anti-Olympus sentiment catching fire in Greece, this despite his status as the son of Zeus (Liam Neeson).  But when Hades (Ralph Fiennes) threatens to “release the Kraken” unless the princess Andromeda is sac

Epitomizing the gonzo ‘80s Italian horror aesthetic, Synapse gave  Demons  and  Demons 2  their due on a 4K Ultra-HD double-feature that was tempting at  any  price point.  Now they're making it a little more affordable to choose your favorite by releasing each title individually.  But no matter  which   you choose, you won’t find a more silly, sick and visually slick example of Euro-splatter anywhere! At this point in his career Argento had drifted into a pattern of disconnected imagery tied with the loosest of narrative threads, designed more like  Fangoria  photoplays than linear stories.  And apparently he developed  Demons  and its sequel along the same lines, packaging both films with a prefabricated heavy metal soundtrack built around some outstanding make-up effects by Sergio Stivaletti.  There’s a screenplay in here somewhere, but it’s practically non-essential.   Demons  begins with a disfigured servant of Satan handing out flyers to a free movie, which attracts a motley

Making movies should be fun.  But, as most directors will admit, once you’re called up to the major leagues a lot of the camaraderie and spontaneity goes out the window at the expense of big budgets and tight schedules.  Robert Rodriguez hit the jackpot with  El Mariachi  (1992), a run-and-gun labor of love shot in Mexico that caused such a stir on the festival circuit Columbia Pictures ponied up for a major release  and  fast-tracked a sequel/remake. While none of Rodriguez follow-up films were quite as handmade as his first feature, his work for the major studios always retains a certain joie de vivre, as if deep down he’s still just that guy making short films with a video camera in the backyard.   El Mariachi  was a legendary success story that came at the height of the post-modern indie film movement.  Sharing buzz with his competition and collaborator Quentin Tarantino, Rodriguez created Hong Kong-style action for pennies on the dollar, working with non-professional actors but cr