BLACKADDER REMASTERED: THE ULTIMATE EDITION

I've enjoyed many British comedy programs since discovering MONTY PYTHON'S FLYING CIRCUS and THE GOODIES way back in 1974/75 (or somewhere thereabouts) and have collected my favorites since they became available on VHS tapes, eventually replacing them as formats periodically changed. I've been very displeased by the treatment of several of the classics, most notably the fact that the MONTY PYTHON'S FLYING CIRCUS discs are missing some sketches for reasons that are as yet unexplained (which was also true of the VHS tapes), RED DWARF having many of its effects sequences pointlessly redone in CGI (thus robbing the show of some of its cheesy charm), and the availability of only a tiny sampling of THE GOODIES on either side of the Atlantic, so when I asked for BLACKADDER REMASTERED: THE ULTIMATE EDITION for Christmas, I anticipated it with a certain sense of impending doom.

For those unfamiliar with it, BLACKADDER is rightly considered one of the very best of the British sitcoms, as well as regularly topping critics' lists as one of the best British television series of any kind (well, maybe not the first run, but I'll get to that shortly), and when I stumbled across it on PBS in 1988 I was knocked out by its terrific acting, sharp scripts, and its overall mean-spirited bad attitude. Intended by its creators to be in no way comparable to FAWLTY TOWERS, BLACKADDER eventually achieved that goal and now commands a fierce fan base.

Anyway, Christmas Day rolled around and I got the boxed set — thereby relegating my previous BLACKADDER DVDs to my trade-in pile for a certain video store in lower Manhattan — and watched it over the past week, happily revisiting some of my favorite comedy and enjoying several of the extras (which were absent from the previous DVD incarnation). What follows is one hardcore BLACKADDER fan's assessment of this latest release, so strap yourselves in for a twisted history lesson that literally takes the viewer from 1485 through 1917, as well as the distant past and the far future.

NOTE: in the UK a television season is referred to as a "series" and when it comes to sitcoms, more often than not a given series runs about six episodes. There are exceptions to this rule, but them's the basics.

THE BLACK ADDER (1983)

Prince Edmund, aka "the Black Adder."

Taking place in 1485, near the end of the Middle Ages, this first BLACKADDER series tells the secret history of what allegedly transpired following Richard III's accidental assassination during the Battle of Bosworth Field at the hands of the weak and cowardly Prince Edmund (Rowan Atkinson), the despised second son of Richard IV (Brian Blessed). When Richard IV assumes the throne, Edmund dubs himself "the Black Adder" and attempts to improve his lot, a futile quest if ever there was one, especially when aided by the moronic Lord Percy Percy (Tim McInnerney) and grubby manservant Baldrick (Tony Robinson). While this series set up the basic template of BLACKADDER as a sitcom that used British history as its playground, THE BLACK ADDER is merely mediocre at best, largely due to it not having sorted out all the elements that would later make it work to such great and classic effect. This incarnation of Edmund is a pathetic, unlikeable weasel of a man who displays none of the intelligence and cunning of his successors, while Baldrick is clearly the brains of the operation despite his vastly lower hierarchical status, and that dynamic between the two does not work. THE BLACK ADDER does have it's moments though, including Brian Blessed chewing up the scenery as Richard IV, Peter Cook as Richard III in the first episode, Miriam Margolyes as the extremely horny Spanish infanta, Edmund being accused of being a witch, and the final episode, in which Edmund finally becomes outright evil and enacts a plot to kill his father with the aid of the six most evil men in England. Nonetheless, critical and audience reaction to THE BLACK ADDER was tepid at best and if not for costs being cut and an overhaul of the concept, this would have been it for the Blackadder dynasty.

BLACKADDER II (1986)

Given a reprieve after some much-needed changes were made, BLACKADDER II hit the ground running some two years after the first series and became an instant classic that has not dated one bit in the twenty-four years since it originally aired. Possessed of an energy that the original series utterly lacked, BLACKADDER II benefited from the replacement of co-creator Rowan Atkinson as co-scripter with Ben Elton, a terrifically talented comedy writer whose work on THE YOUNG ONES is worthy of its own post on this blog. Paired with series co-creator Richard Curtis, the two were a humorous force to be reckoned with and their scripts overflow with delightfully scabrous wordplay. The Blackadder name somehow manages to live on into the Elizabethan era (1558-1603), despite Prince Edmund and the entire royal court being quite decisively killed off at the previous series' end, and is now an actual surname rather than a would-be dashing/sinister alias. Edmund Blackadder is now a Lord in the court of Queen Elizabeth I (Miranda Richardson), but he is in every way more capable and intelligent than Prince Edmund. Lord Blackadder is a fantastically cynical and shrewd individual who oozes a sense of superiority and confidence because, frankly, he deserves to; everyone around him is literally an idiot, an asshole or insane, so his attitude is indeed well-earned. The regulars this time around include an hilariously dumbed-down and endearingly disgusting Baldrick, the ever-useless Lord Percy, the smarmily sycophantic Lord Melchett (Stephen Fry), and the most likely borderline-retarded or functionally demented Nursie (Patsy Byrne), the queen's childhood nursemaid. And then there's Queenie herself, a grown woman of immense power whose level of mental/emotional development is perhaps equal to that of a four-year-old.

Lord Blackadder sucks up to Queenie (the sublime Miranda Richardson), the absolute monarch of Britain and the woman who could have his head forcibly separated from his neck at her slightest whim.

It is a major understatement to say that BLACKADDER II would have been a completely different series if not for Miranda Richardson's hilariously petulant and utterly bizarre interpretation of the Virgin Queen, and I dare say that if not for her and the tweaks made to Blackadder himself and Baldrick, I would not be writing this. Richardson's work here has been the subject of endless commentary and praise, so I'll keep it short and simple and just say she's fucking hilarious. As for the episodes themselves, the weakest of the six may be "Head" and it's not even bad by any standard, so we're talking about a solid winner of a series. The highlights are too numerous to go into here, but moments that immediately leap to my mind would be Blackadder's disastrous attempt at earning money by pimping out Baldrick to rough trade at the docks,

The world's oldest profession at it's lowest.

Blackadder's scandalous "homosexual" attraction to and romance with "Bob" (quite obviously a cross-dressing woman, who usurps Baldrick's position as manservant in order to avoid supporting her aged father by working as a prostitute),

"Hot Sex Madrigal in My Tights": Blackadder finds himself unnaturally attracted to his new manservant, "Bob" (Gabrielle Glaister), and the feeling is mutual.

fan-fave Doctor Who Tom Baker as the probably mad and literally legless Captain Redbeard Rum,

"You have a woman's hands!!!": everyone's favorite Doctor Who, Tom Baker, as mad Captain Rum.

and of course Rik (THE YOUNG ONES) Mayall's unforgettable turn as Lord Flashheart, a man so egotistically macho and completely irresistible to women that he is for all intents and purposes an anthropomorphized penis.

"She's got a tongue like an electric eel, and she likes the taste of a MAN'S tonsils!": Rik Mayall as the one and only Lord Flashheart, an uber-masculine swashbuckler who self-admittedly feels better in a dress.

Simply put, this is a landmark in British comedy and stands as one of the finest sitcoms ever produced. In my opinion, it's between this and BLACKADDER THE THIRD as the best run of the lot.

BLACKADDER THE THIRD (1987)

While many consider BLACKADDER II as the finest hour of the whole BLACKADDER cycle (not undeservedly by a long shot), it was BLACKADDER THE THIRD that I first encountered and it remains my favorite some twenty-two years after I first saw it. Jumping forward in time to and playing very fast and loose with the dates of the Regency period of British history (1811-1820, but here occurring roughly some thirty years or so earlier; don't ask) during which Mad King George was too far gone to competently govern and was thus succeeded by his son, also named George, Blackadder finds his class status reduced from that of a courtier to the colossally brain-dead Prince Regent's butler. With Baldrick still by his side and perhaps more sub-humanly repulsive/lovable than ever, Edmund's reduced status only forces him to use his razor-sharp wits to make tons of cash out of easy marks and get the better of all who may be ill-advised to fuck with him in any way (sometimes fatally), and it is in this incarnation that he is at his most clever and downright sociopathic (not to mention suave). Murder, political corruption and literal highway robbery are par for the course, all equaling another six-episode run without a dud in the bunch; if any of these could be considered weak, I'd name the Scarlet Pimpernel episode, "Nob and Nobility," for that honor, but much like the previous series' "Head," it only suffers because it's just a tad less brilliant than its contemporaries. The best episodes in this third series would be — in my humble opinion — "Ink and Incapability" (due to various mishaps, Blackadder must rewrite the entire sole manuscript of Dr. Samuel Johnson's dictionary prototype or face a violent death), the piss-yourself-hilarious "Sense and Senility" (a chronicle of what happens when the "thick as a whale omelet" Prince Regent hires two actors to teach him how to craft a more heroic image, and what befalls the thespians when they make the grave error of insulting Blackadder one time too many),

Foppish asshole actors Kenarick and Mossop (Hugh Paddick and Kenneth Connor), on a course to finding out in the hardest way why it is an extremely bad idea to fuck with Edmund Blackadder.

and "Duel and Duality," the series' final episode, in which we are treated to Stephen Fry's incredible Duke of Wellington, a fascist asshole of the highest order whose vendetta of honor against the Prince Regent leads to an unexpected turn in Blackadder's fortunes.

Blackadder, impersonating the Prince Regent, in an audience with vengeance-driven fascist asshole the Duke of Wellington (played to hilarious perfection by the inimitable Stephen Fry).

Coming in at an almost undetectably close second to BLACKADDER II in terms of overall quality, BLACKADDER THE THIRD is a study in comedy and I would be egregiously remiss if I didn't single out Hugh Laurie's stunning performance as George, the Prince Regent, for my most heartfelt praise.

Fuck Dr. House: Hugh Laurie's Prince George, one of the all-time greatest comedic performances in television history and the element that made me a BLACKADDER fan for life.

Now an international star for his work on HOUSE (which is quite good), Laurie's performance as the staggeringly stupid and randy George is a joy to behold and he steals every episode. Fantastically dim, it's amazing to see George work in concert with the none-too-bright Baldrick as the two actors portraying them somehow deliver completely differing takes on their characters' total lack of intelligence (despite Baldrick's oft-uttered proclamation of "I have a cunning plan"). If anyone out there knows Hugh Laurie, please tell him his George made me an admirer for life and that he's as important to the success of BLACKADDER THE THIRD as Miranda Richardson was to BLACKADDER II, which is no small complement.

BLACKADDER: THE CAVALIER YEARS (1988)

A fifteen-minute segment done for Live Aid, this piece is rather uninspired and feels like it was done solely out of contractual obligation (which was not the case). Taking place in 1648 at the ass-end of the British Civil War, "The Cavalier Years" depicts Blackadder and Baldrick's futile attempts at keeping King Charles I (Stephen Fry) from losing his head to Oliver Cromwell (Warren Clarke, aka Dim from A CLOCKWORK ORANGE; previously seen in BLACKADDER THE THIRD's "Amy and Amiability") and his Roundheads. Speaking as a BLACKADDER junkie, I can honestly say you'll miss nothing if you choose to pass on this one.

BLACKADDER'S CHRISTMAS CAROL (1988)

Surprisingly not a scene from the new Alejandro Jodorowsky movie.

Unique in the annals of holiday offerings is this gem of a Dickens spoof that refreshingly breaks with Christmas special tradition and offers no trace of anything even remotely heartwarming or treacly, instead teaching us that the best way to succeed in life is by being a complete and utter bastard. Ebenezer Blackadder, "the kindest man in England" (!!!) is mercilessly taken advantage of by all and sundry (except Baldrick), leaving him with Jack shit on Christmas Eve. Just like in the Dickens original, the Ghost of Christmas Past (Robbie Coltrane) arrives at bedtime, but this Blackadder is such a sweetheart that the ghost has no reason to enlighten him with a look back at his past. Instead, the spectre shows Blackadder examples of what a bunch of human vermin his ancestors were and commends him for being their polar opposite, but Blackadder comes to realize that he'd be much better off if he stopped being such a doormat and embraced the self-serving evil of his predecessors (specifically his incarnations from BLACKADDER II and BLACKADDER THE THIRD). The final nail in the coffin of Ebenezer Blackader's overwhelming goodness is a glimpse into the distant future, in which... Well, let's just say that it's both bizarre and funny, as the image seen above may get across. By far the best of the BLACKADDER one-shots, this should not be missed and deserves to run annually as an alternative to IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE.

BLACKADDER GOES FORTH (1989)

This final full series is set during WWI and is greatly beloved by its native audience, but the nature of its tone has always struck me as especially bleak and depressing, despite there being funny scripts and fine performances all around. Blackadder is now an army captain in the trenches of WWI, joined by Baldrick as a private and George as a lieutentant, and the main thrust of this series is the cynical cad's uniformly-futile attempts at being re-assigned out of the trenches and the certain death that awaits him, efforts repeatedly thwarted by the mad General Melchett (Stephen Fry turning in another stellar performance) and his assistant, Captain Darling (Tim McInnerney). It's all very entertaining, but the re-use of jokes from previous series — particularly the return of Bob and Flashheart, two great one-shot characters whose resurrections amount to little — speaks to a certain lack of ideas on the part of the writers. The one thing that truly sets this this series apart is its downbeat attitude and famous, devastating/poetic conclusion, and if not for those aspects BLACKADDER GOES FORTH would be seen as a somewhat middling affair, though considerably better than THE BLACK ADDER. Considering the heaps of praise piled upon BLACKADDER GOES FORTH, I know I'm pretty much alone in that assessment, but look at it objectively when compared to the whole run and you just might join me in my opinion.

BLACKADDER: BACK & FORTH (1999)

This thirty-four minute film made some ten years after BLACKADDER GOES FORTH is likely to be the final installment — especially since some of the cast are now way too old and/or fat to play the familiar roles convincingly — and as finales go it all ends on a fun note, although it is admittedly less sharp than the series at its best. With the Millennium mere hours away, the present-day Blackadder, now apparently a lord, informs his dinner guests (all apparently descendants of characters from previous series) that he has a time machine built from plans by Leonardo da Vinci and bets each of them ten-thousand pounds that he can travel back in time (assisted by Baldrick, who constructed the craft) and return with any item from history that they may request. Intending his claims as a practical joke, Blackadder and Baldrick enter the time machine — which looks like a cheap prop that would barely past muster on 1970's-era episode of DOCTOR WHO — that they have stocked with items that could pass as the artifacts his guests suggested, but what neither Blackadder nor his servant anticipated was that the combination of da Vinci's genius and Baldrick's stupidity would be a means of fully-functional time travel. What ensues finds the pair bouncing throughout time while trying to make their way home, bringing them face-to-face with some of their own ancestors,

Blackadder — "Blackaddicus" — and Baldrick in their Roman Empire-era incarnations.

as well as an assortment of historical notables and in the finale establishing what may be the ultimate and inevitable place for Blackadder in Britain's (and perhaps the world's) history. Though not a classic, this film is nonetheless good, brisk fun and benefits from being only slightly longer than a half-hour in length. Most filmmakers would have stretched this to around an hour, especially when considering the scope of the piece, but that creative decision was wisely not made.

The rest of BLACKADDER REMASTERED: THE ULTIMATE EDITION is rounded out with a few commentaries from the cast, writers and producer and some minor behind the scenes tidbits, but also included is the 2008 documentary BLACKADDER RIDES AGAIN. The documentary traces the complete history of BLACKADDER, interviews all of the key contributors and is definitely of interest to fans. So the bottom line of all this is that BLACKADDER REMASTERED: THE ULTIMATE EDITION is a fully-loaded boxed set that's certain to please fans, for whom this is a must-have that could only be improved by including the book of all the scripts from the four main series — BLACKADDER: THE WHOLE DAMN DYNASTY 1485-1987 (2000, Penguin) — and having Blackadder himself show up and deliver it at your doorstep. After which he unceremoniously stabs you and bemoans your worthlessness and stupidity. Worth every penny of it's $54.99 price tag on Amazon, this boxed set comes with my HIGHEST RECOMMENDATION.

R.I.P. JULIET ANDERSON (1938-2010), aka "AUNT PEG," THE ORIGINAL HARDCORE COUGAR

Juliet "Aunt Peg" Anderson at work.

Juliet Anderson, nee Juliet Carr but best known to porn fans as Aunt Peg, was found dead in her home, apparently of natural causes (although she had been suffering from Crohn's disease). Embarking on her pornographic film career at age 39, Anderson was the original "cougar"-type and fans of her mature charms were legion. There's an excellent obit for her over at AVN, so I recommend reading that (read it at home because the site is absolutely not work safe), but allow me to say that I admired her for being one of the most sex-positive human beings out there. Rest well, Miss Anderson, you silver fox, you.

IF YOU HAVE A HEART, THEN GUMBY'S A PART OF YOU: R.I.P. ART CLOKEY (1921-2010), CREATOR OF GUMBY

Art Clokey, the highly imaginative animator who gave the world Gumby ("and his pony pal, Pokey, too") is dead at the age of 88. I'll be back with more on this soon, but let me speak for many people when I offer Mr. Clokey my most humble and deeply-felt thanks for sharing his often completely bizarre imagination with kids everywhere and letting us budding weirdos know that there were grownups out there who proved that we were not alone.

ON FAST FOOD FRIED CHICKEN

Among the things that will be falling by the wayside during my efforts to get it all together in 2010 is my too-frequent consumption of the gods' own gift to Negroes everywhere, namely the ambrosia that is fried chicken. Jesus H. Christ, do I love me some fried chicken and despite my lifetime of defying stereotypes related to us highly rhythmic individuals, I wear my love of this artery-clogging delicacy like a badge of honor.

Long an affordable staple on the American family's menu, fried chicken can be easily prepared at home — easy after mastering the intricacies and arcane secrets of its preparation, that is — but it is most often enjoyed when picked up from one of our fair nation's many fast food chains that specialize in such crunchy-yet-tender mouth-watering deliciousness. (You can also get decent fried chicken at Chinese takeout places because, let's face it, the only people who do fried stuff better than black people are our Asian brothers.) So with that in mind, allow me to take a brief walk through the premiere chicken franchises and reminisce about their various merits (or lack thereof).

ROY ROGERS

This roast beef sandwich-based chain is slowly dying out and that's a shame because their roast beef sandwiches were pretty good (and a damned sight better than that shit they sell you at Arby's). The same cannot be said of their chicken, which was passable back in the late-1980's, but has steadily dwindled in quality ever since. You know you're in trouble when the best part of the chicken is the frequently shell-like coating and not the meat, and Roy's chicken was often served overcooked and bearing a wood-like consistency. You might get lucky and receive a decent order if you find a Roy's in some podunk locale, but otherwise this bird is best avoided altogether.

CHURCH'S FRIED CHICKEN

For years there was an urban legend circulating among the black and Latino communities that Church's Chicken was actually owned by the KKK or some other white supremacist organization, and that the insidious forces of evil whiteness had infused the chain's artery-clogging wares with a chemical that either prevented dusky erections or outright sterilized the blacks and Hispanics who ate the stuff (seriously, Google that one for yourself). That's all obviously bullshit, but the fact of the matter is that Church's Chicken simply isn't very good, or at least the sole Church's that I've experienced is particularly uninspired. The one fairly close to where I live in Brooklyn is a combination Church's and White Castle and it tends to attract the dregs of the area's populace — junkies, alkies, lowlife hoods and hustlers, strung-out whores, bootleg DVD salesmen, assorted redolent beggars — so maybe the overall mediocre-to-awful quality of the food reflects the staff's apathy toward serving anything truly worth eating to an assortment of mutants. Whatever the case may actually be, the chicken served here has nothing to its flavor that sets it apart from the frozen TV dinner equivalent and it almost seems to wear its blandness as a badge of honor. In the specific case of the Church's shop near me, its flavor-mediocrity is perfectly compounded by being available from the same dual menu that allows you to order it with some White Castle sliders, a combination guaranteed to make you fart and shit like a goddamned banshee. If that sounds unpleasant, let me tell you with absolute certainty that it's actually far worse than it sounds and can result in gaseous emissions that make plants wilt, pets flee, and children cry. My relatives from Alabama used to rave about Church's Chicken and considering a number of their highly questionable interests, that was all I really needed to know.

KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN

The acme of fast food fried chicken for decades, I doubt there's a single non-vegetarian household in this country that has never experienced the time-honored meal of a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Now known as "KFC" in what's probably a feeble attempt at diverting the modern health-conscious consumer's attention away from the chicken's fried aspect being prominently featured in its name, the Colonel's signature bird can be a tender and flavorful joy that deserves its franchise longevity. But the decline in KFC's quality is easily tracked from the late-1970's, beginning with the introduction of the "extra-crispy" version of chicken that eschews the unique seasoning of the original recipe in favor of a largely flavorless, battered and deep-fried overcooked edible paperweight with admittedly tasty breading. Then came the day when someone realized that wings were the perfect snack, and immediately the piece of the bird that everyone got pissed off about getting too many of in a bucket became popular and more pricey than they were worth. And as the years passed, many KFC's merged with other fast food joints in the Reise corporate stable, allowing the standards of KFC and whatever chain they were paired with to drop because proper attention could not be paid to both fast food favorites; a particularly troubling example of such a pairing is when KFC is linked with Taco Bell (which I fucking love when it's done right) and neither junk food delicacy is prepared and served with the care that made them great. Then there are the KFC's in urban areas that are manned by stereotypically lazy and hostile layabouts who get annoyed with you if you expect them to get your order right or serve you chicken that's fresh, rather than the sorry specimens that have been slowly desiccating under heat lamps for hours on end. In big cities KFC tends to attract a certain thuggish and uncouth element, sometimes resulting in your order being served to you from behind two layers of three-inch-thick bulletproof plexiglass (I am not exaggerating), thus reducing the once-pleasant dining experience to something akin to being doled out a meal in a maximum security prison. Sometimes you get lucky and receive an order of KFC that's a winner across the board, but in my experience I've been disappointed by what I've gotten from the once-reliable Colonel and his minions around eight out of ten times I go to them for chicken. I've officially given up on any KFC in the New York City or Connecticut areas and will only patronize one of their locations in small towns and out of the way places where standards are a tad more stringent.

POPEYE'S CHICKEN & BISCUITS

Contrary to popular belief, this negro-pleasing franchise was not named for the spinach-chomping cartoon sailor, but was actually named in tribute to Popeye Doyle of THE FRENCH CONNECTION fame. No, seriously! This Louisiana-accented chain features what is hands down the best fried chicken available for fast food consumption, and if it's done right it is a genuine pleasure in all aspects. Available in mild or spicy varieties, Popeye's chicken has an exceptional crispy coating and skin, tender meat, and an aroma that's certain to stimulate your salivary glands. Their biscuits are simply the best of the many available with your garden variety fast food chicken order and the same can be said of their sides, of which I wholeheartedly steer you toward the mashed potatoes and Cajun gravy. Simply superb, Popeye's Chicken is the only fast food chicken to which I will remain loyal, although limiting my intake of it to one order per month (okay, maybe two). However, even something as awesome as Popeye's is not without its downside (apart from the obvious potential death from congestive heart failure, that is). With the exception of a location on the highway that leads to New Paltz, NY, all the Popeye's I've visited have been in some urban area and staffed by surly and/or brain-dead high school students or recent parolees who do not give a fuck about you, your order, or even if what they're serving you is fresh or not. Popeye's is also notorious for running out of chicken before or during the dinner hours, which certainly speaks of its popularity, but it's fucking annoying and frustrating to get there before 7PM and be told that they're out of whatever you may want and that they have no intention of making anything fresh, despite the fact that the place is open for another three whole hours. That's completely disgraceful because frying chicken at home takes about ten minutes at most, and not only is Popeye's a joint whose sole raison d'etre is to make fried chicken by the truckload, the place has industrial fryers to facilitate exactly that goal, so what the fuck? And depending on which one you go to, Popeye's can also be afflicted with the same dregs of the neighborhood as previously described at Church's Chicken and there's nothing worse than being stuck on the sometimes very long lines behind those assholes. They'll attempt to haggle over the price of a single biscuit and get loud/potentially violent if the clerk's answers are not to their liking, so have your pepper spray or Taser at the ready. But even those caveats cannot detract from the excellence of Popeye's if you get it fresh and hot from the fryers.

Damn. Now I wanna go get me some Popeye's...

A BRIEF PAUSE FOR A MASSIVE "THANK YOU"

Vaulties-

the man in the above picture is a friend of mine for nearly thirty years and I just wanted to take time out to acknowledge the fact that he recently did me — and by association this blog — a solid that goes waaaay above and beyond the call of friendship duty. I will not mention his name nor tell you what he did because it would probably embarrass the living shit out of him for he is a modest soul, but let me tell you that he has my eternal gratitude.

Oh, and "Mystery Man?" Please let me know when you're in the NYC/CT area again. It's been far too many years and we need to catch up.

Also, to the Beer Police: this is the guy responsible for "Nuke." You also owe him thanks.

BIG STAN (2007)

A prison-bound Rob Schneider trains his nipples under the merciless tutelage of David Carradine.

In keeping with a string of events that are proving to me that 2010 is gonna be a great year, I encountered the humble Rob Schneider movie BIG STAN at the Times Square/42nd Street subway station's music and video store where it was available for $3.99 and decided to take a chance. It featured my man David Carradine in a comedy and I figured $3.99 wasn't much to risk, so what the hell, right? I'm not a huge Rob Schneider fan — although he does seem like an alright and down to earth guy in interviews — and as this was his first foray into directing I was somewhat skeptical, but I'm glad to say that BIG STAN is an unexpected gem that greatly appealed to me for a number of reasons, chief among which was that from out of nowhere Schneider has created the first genuinely funny American-made martial arts comedy. (Admittedly not a large genre, but what existed previously was uniformly awful.)

Stan Minton (Rob Schneider) is a rich real estate con man who bilks old ladies out of their savings, but he gets busted and is given a mandatory sentence of three-to-five years in prison for fraud. His crooked lawyer (M. Emmett Walsh) manages to get Stan six months in which to put his affairs in order before being sent up the river, and Stan, realizing that he'd most likely be raped from sunrise to sunset on a daily basis during his incarceration, uses that time to do illegal steroids and attempt to learn karate in an effort to toughen himself up (his karate instructor is played by Simon Rhee, aka Dae Han from BEST OF THE BEST). Sadly, Stan's first month of effort amount to naught, that is until he meets The Master (David Carradine), an unkempt chainsmoking senior citizen drifter who possesses martial skills that verge on the superhuman. Using the five remaining months, Stan trains hard with his newfound mentor and, as is par for the course in cinema, becomes the baddest motherfucker you've ever seen by the time he reports for lockup, armed with an arsenal of formidable hand-to-hand and stick-fighting techniques. After easily and brutally beating the living shit out of a yard full of the prison's hardest and largest inmates on his first day by way of intimidation factor and establishing his badass cred, Stan immediately finds himself the prison's Alpha wolf, a position he defends a number of times, and once established as the top dog, Stan institutes a strict policy of no rape under penalty of rapists being answerable to him. (He even takes the time to explain to his fellow inmates that consensual homosexual sex is okay, but rape is an act of violence, very strongly underlining the difference between the two.) That development leads to unforeseen changes in the daily lives of the inmates, and the barriers between the many prisoner factions come tumbling down with the aid of communication and Afro-Cuban dance. But while Stan's transformation of the prison system makes for an interesting narrative in many ways, the film need more of a villain than the ever-looming spectre of man-rape, so the prison's corrupt warden (Scott Wilson) enlists Stan's criminal real estate knowledge for his plan to have the prison demolished and converted into a series of luxury condos, from which he'll turn a hefty profit. Promised early release for his expert participation in the scheme, Stan proves invaluable and receives many perks, but when push comes to shove, is he really willing to betray the inmates whose lives he's unexpectedly turned around? And is he also willing to ditch his newfound general human decency that has made him a better man who's finally open to being the caring, unselfish husband his sweet wife (Jennifer Morrison) needs? And what's all this about Stan being The Master's number two student, second only to a highly proficient pupil who uses his great skills for evil?

BIG STAN is vulgar, somewhat lowbrow, and very definitely an example of "guy" humor, but its good vibes are undeniable and it's quite funny. But what really sets this film apart is it's blistering comedic martial arts sequences, something I did not know I was going to get when I bought it on a whim. The fight choreography is excellent — what else would one expect from Dan Inosanto, the film's "martial arts master instructor" and co-founder of Jeet Kune Do with some guy named Bruce Lee? — and works like what you night get if the Three Stooges had turned their slapstick sensibilities to seriously kicking ass chopsocky-style. JKD trapping is quite evident, and the terrific stick fighting fairly drips with Inosanto's way of working, but all that hardcore asskickery is played for laughs and I have not laughed so hard at a martial arts comedy since the original DRUNKEN MASTER (1978) with Jackie Chan. (NOTE: BIG STAN is in no way as good as the classic DRUNKEN MASTER, so don't even go there, but it is a lot of fun.) Among the highlights are:

• The late David Carradine utterly stealing the movie as The Master, an artfully vulgar sendup of his kung fu/martial arts master image.
  

The Master teaches Stan the "one finger of death" (because there wasn't enough time for all five).

A boozing, chainsmoking, borderline sadist, The Master looks like his offensive presence would kill your lawn if he moved in next door, and he's a refreshing antithesis to all the pious and wise martial mentors who populate martial arts stories. When asked by Stan's perky wife where he comes from, The Master stone-facedly replies, "From Hell."

• Stan's beatdown of the prison yard's top dogs on his first day in jail is simultaneously exhilarating and completely cartoonish.
  

The ghosts of Larry, Moe and Curly look down from on high at this one and smile broadly. In fact, all of the fights are worth your time for that exact reason, particularly an incident in the showers involving a stabbing thwarted by homemade soap-on-a-rope nunchucks.

• Stan's laying down of the new laws to the inmates is quite amusing because of the scripting and the fact that rules going against all of the widely accepted prison horrors are spelled out by a pipsqueak of a man that every single inmates knows can kick ass like a freight train on a fistful of Stud City Animal Stimulants. He's kind of like the little chicken hawk from the old Warner Brothers cartoons; about as big as your thumb, but with an attitude and sense of sheer menace that belies his physical stature.
• Rob Schneider is to be commended for doing a fine job as a first-time director, but he really deserves a pat on the back for doing the majority (if not all) of his martial arts moves. The guy obviously worked very hard and took it seriously, succeeding where others failed to pull off such choreography convincingly. Rob, if you read this, well done!
• The use of Daniel Inosanto as the chief choreographer shows that somebody knew just the right people to work on this film, and they even had the common decency to have the modern master show up in the film as a crazed, knife-wielding prison cook during the jailyard beatdown sequence.

So, armed as it is with wall-to-wall fights, rampaging vulgarity, David Carradine, a staunch anti-rape stance and a tale of redemption and meaningful contribution to society brought about by the martial arts (okay, brought about through intimidation and the kicking of truckloads of deserving ass), BIG STAN is a solid bit of fun that was unfairly released straight to DVD while vastly lesser efforts such as DEUCE BIGELOW: EUROPEAN GIGOLO somehow made it to the big screen. I guess that's what Schneider gets for thinking outside the box and bringing something different and actually good to an audience that makes outright shit like DISASTER MOVIE a hit, but thanks to BIG STAN I'll be paying attention to whatever he comes up with from now on.

HAPPY BELATED 58th BIRTHDAY TO SAMMO HUNG!!!

A living legend in martial arts cinema, my man Sammo Hung turned fifty-eight yesterday, and I would have posted this bit of news on his actual birthday had I but known about it. This badassed fatboy has directed, produced and starred in many classic Hong Kong martial arts flicks of note, including ENTER THE FAT DRAGON (1978), MAGNIFICENT BUTCHER (1979), WHEELS ON MEALS (1984), MILLIONAIRE'S EXPRESS (1985), PAINTED FACES (1987) and many others, as well as being the venerated "elder kung fu brother" of Jackie Chan and Yuen Biao during their days as kids in the famed Peking Opera School. His skill and grace belie his size and it's a joy to watch him work damned near anything he can get his hands on as a weapon, particularly a pair of tennis rackets. But while not as well known in the U.S. as he deserves to be, even after starring as the title character for two seasons on the CBS action show MARTIAL LAW, American martial arts movie fans know exactly who Sammo is, even if they don't know him by name, for one very simple and significant reason: he's that chubby guy who has the misfortune of entering into a match against Bruce Lee at the very beginning of the epochal ENTER THE DRAGON (1973).

A twenty-year-old Sammo Hung...

...on the receiving end of some serious schooling...

...from some guy named Bruce Lee during the opening sequence of ENTER THE DRAGON (1973).

Hey, if you're gonna have your ass kicked on the big screen by anybody, Bruce Lee's about as good as it gets.

Anyway, happy birthday, Sammo!

HAPPY 75Tth BIRTHDAY, ELVIS PRESLEY!!!

Great moments in ludicrous-but-true history: Dec. 21,1970-a presumably fucked-up-on-prescription-drugs Elvis shows up at the White House and requests that President Richard M. Nixon appoint him as a "Federal agent-at-large" for the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs. I shit you not.

It's The King's seventy-fifth birthday, so stuff yer face with fried peanut butter, banana and bacon sammiches while surfing nude to Hawaii!

"Glory, glory, hallelujah," indeed!

REASONS WHY 2010 COULD BE PRETTY BITCHIN' #2: FROM FAKE TRAILER TO FULL-FLEDGED FEATURE

One of the many joys of GRINDHOUSE was its fake trailers, each a fun and evocative short that perfectly captured the feel of the genres they were straight-facedly lampooning, and perhaps the best-realized of the lot was Robert Rodriguez's MACHETE. Sitting through that coming attraction for a movie that would presumably never come made me wish that it was real, and now my prayers have been answered.

Yes, this is the actual teaser poster for the upcoming full-length MACHETE, and I'll be there on opening night (a date that has yet to be announced). Hopefully it will be ultra-violent and entertaining as hell, thereby scoring a huge hit at the box office and possibly opening the floodgates for a new wave of bigscreen exploitation flicks. Oh, please let it happen...

THE COUNTRY BEARS (2002)

No, you have not gone insane: that is indeed Christopher Walken engaged in conversation with a big-assed bear.

If you know me at all, you know that I'm willing to sit through just about anything in pursuit of "the worst movie ever made" and as of the other night I know I'm getting closer to finding that singular dubious monument in cinema history, for I have now seen THE COUNTRY BEARS and at long last I know how some of the protagonists of H.P. Lovecraft stories feel after they've glimpsed something that man just was not meant to see and consequently tumbled headlong into a state of gibbering madness.

Apparently taking place in a world where anthropomorphic ursines are commonplace, THE COUNTRY BEARS — which is based on a Disney theme park ride, a la THE PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN and THE HAUNTED MANSION features films, but this was the first — tells the story of "Beary" (voiced by Haley Joel Osment), a bear cub adopted by a human family, who , spurred by the taunts of his adoptive brother, has just realized that he is "different" and sets out to discover his roots. Beary's also an accomplished guitarist with a fascination for the Country Bears, a country/rock combo who were once wildly popular, hugely successful, and a major force in pop music that disbanded long ago, so he travels to the rustic barn where they used to play and the story turns into one of those "getting the band back together" narratives. The true goal of getting the Country Bears back together is so they can play a show that will raise enough money to save their old concert venue from the machinations of evil developer Reed Thimple (Christopher "'Cause I'm A 'Ho" Walken) who has held a thirty-year grudge against the rockin' bruins, so it's just a matter of time until they get their shit together or the concert hall is closed and bulldozed over.

Essentially this is a kid's movie (well, duh) that's replete with actors in very good bear suits, but what served to make me interested in it was the incongruous concept of actually seeing a straight-faced Christopher Walken acting/chewing the scenery in the midst of a pack of talking redneck bears. Seriously, think about that for a moment: Christopher fucking Walken, emoting like a goddamned lunatic while surrounded by bipedal talking bears with names like Fred Bedderhead and Tennessee O'Neal. This is a man who has deservedly earned a huge cult following for several excellent and intense performances — THE DOGS OF WAR, KING OF NEW YORK, the list goes on and on — but when he turns his talents to comedy or kid's films, he can be downright hallucinogenic in his impact; for proof of this statement, look no further than his role as the title character in PUSS IN BOOTS, done in his signature style and sans cat suit. Sheer balls on a stick, and he was fantastic in it!

The awesome/completely batshit loony Christopher Walken as the title character in PUSS IN BOOTS (1988). God, I love this guy!

And as proof from THE COUNTRY BEARS, let it suffice to say that you simply have not lived until you witness Christopher Walken performing "The 1812 Overture" via armpit farts —yes, you read that right — for a captive audience of anthropomorphic bears.

Walken lets it rip.

All of which beggars a very simple question: exactly who the fuck thought this movie would be a good idea to make, and who the hell did they think was clamoring to see it? Was it created knowingly to be an outright turd that would serve as a quickly forgotten tax write-off? And how can anyone possibly explain the onscreen and apparently willing participation of Elton John, Bonnie Raitt, Alex Rocco, John Hiatt, Willie Nelson (!!!), Don Was, Queen Latifah, Wyclef Jean and Brian Setzer? Brian Setzer is one of the best guitarists in rock history (in spite of the Stray Cats and their emblandening of rockabilly for an '80's mentality) and do not get me started on Willie Nelson, so how is this possible? I cannot even begin to give you an answer, but I am simultaneously awed by what I bore witness to and also utterly unable to properly compute much of what I saw in the film. No lie, I called three of my dearest friends — Jim Browski, Greaseball Johnny and G-Man — while I watched THE COUNTRY BEARS in actual slack-jawed disbelief, simply so I could describe its contents and lament the fact that none of them were there to share it with me. And I'm sure that things got weird for my pals during those calls because somewhere around halfway through the film I felt the edges of my mouth slowly curl upward into a skull-like rictus that could sort of be described as a smile, after which I literally began to nervously and uncontrollably giggle to myself, just as though I'd been hit with a dose of Joker Venom.

In summation, THE COUNTRY BEARS is an extinction-level bad movie that must be seen to be believed, hopefully in a room packed with an assortment of equally drunken friends. It's bad, bad, bad, but I was riveted to its every moment and image and I'm genuinely delighted that I chose to spend eight-nine cents on a used DVD of it from Amazon Marketplace (the shipping was around two bucks, so it cost me less than three dollars total). Now please excuse me me while I curl up in the corner of my comfy padded cell and draw pretty butterflies with a purple crayon clenched firmly between my toes.