Showing posts with label Michael Sopkiw. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Michael Sopkiw. Show all posts

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Massacre in Dinosaur Valley (Michele Massimo Tarantini, 1985)

As I sit down to type words pertaining to my impromptu screening of Massacre in Dinosaur Valley, the Brazil-set jungle adventure film directed by an Italian, Michele Massimo Tarantini of Women in Fury fame, and starring an American, Michael something, the word "upskirt" is bouncing around inside my head like a superball. The reason being, I want to make sure that I remember it as I go forward with the word typing. It plays, as you will soon find out, a vital role when it comes to the film's overall distribution of enjoyment and other enjoyment-related products. You're joking, right? How could anyone forget to mention the word "upskirt"? I know, you'll probably come across millions of essays and dissertations that tackle this film that don't even bother to mention the film's flagrant upskirt abuse. But you have to remember, the people who wrote those articles are not normal. I, on the other hand, ooze normalcy. And not only that, I am able to spot upskirt abuse with my eyes closed. Upskirt abuse: What is it? And how does one spot it? Well, the former is easy, as it simply refers to the view you get when you look up a woman's skirt, or a man's skirt, or a skirt on a transwoman, for that matter (everyone wears skirts nowadays). Hence, the slapping together of the words "up," meaning something that is up as supposed to down, and "skirt," which is, to quote Lattis from The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, a kind of "inverted cloth funnel." Okay, that solves the upskirt part of the equation. But what about the abuse? When does that occur? Discounting videos that are designed to cater directly to the upskirt community, I'd say upskirt abuse occurs somewhere around the third upskirt. Just the third? I thought you were gonna say, oh, something like, the sixth or the seventh. Oh, no. No, No, No. One upskirt is just that, one upskirt. Enjoy the view. Two upskirts is, well, that's probably an accident (or an "upskirtccident" as it isn't called). When you spot the third upskirt, you know something is up (no pun intended).
 
 
Somewhere out there a deeply flummoxed Michael Sopkiw (the American I alluded to earlier) is probably wondering to himself: Why on earth is this guy talking so much about upskirts? I mean, I wield a shotgun and have sex with Brazilian women, and not even in that order. Patience, Mr. Sopkiw, patience. I'll get to you in a moment. And besides, can't you see that I'm trying to make a point (one that could be viewed as salient) about the amount of upskirt abuse that takes place in this film.
 
 
Okay, where was I? Oh, yes. Something is definitely up when you spot a third upskirt. I'm curious, actually, I'm dying to know, how many upskirts are in Massacre in Dinosaur Valley? Are you sitting down? Oh, and before you sit down, make sure to cross your legs. You wouldn't want some pervert to catch a glimpse of your freshly laundered panties, now would you? But seriously, are you sitting down? All right, I counted a total of eleven upskirts. Eleven?!? You heard me, eleven. It's not even funny. Eleven. Are you sure about that? Let me see, one, two, three, four...yep, eleven.
 
 
How many upskirt shots does Star Wars have? I'll tell you how many: Zero. Okay. And how many upskirt shots does Massacre in Dinosaur Valley have? Say it with me: eleven. Yeah, but Princess Leia wears a gold bikini in the Return of the Jedi. Really? Well, how 'bout this, eleven.
 
 
Someone who, surprisingly, doesn't have a single upskirt moment in this film is Suzane Carvalho, the lead actress from Michele Massimo Tarantini's Women in Fury. Why's that? It's a simple matter of physics, really? Yeah, but you're a complete dumbass who knows nothing about physics. That's true. I am a dumbass. But I'm smart enough to know that even the most resourceful pervert is going to have trouble getting the upward view he or she desires when the subject's legs are in a post-crossed state. Sure, you could wait for them to be un-crossed. But look at you, you're sitting behind the subject. How are you supposed to get a glimpse of her panties from that angle? You can't. Unless you have partner who is willing to hold a mirror, you're not seeing any panties on this day.
 
 
Anyway, Eva Ibañez (the name of Suzane's character), the daughter of famed paleontologist Pedro Ibañez (Leonidas Bayer), who is sitting next to her on a hot, overcrowded bus traveling through rural Brazil, is minding her own business, when, all of a sudden, she notices that two passengers sitting behind her are scoping her legs, which, like I said, are firmly crossed. Realizing that they won't be catching a sneak of peek at her soaking wet crotch, thanks to her employment of the leg cross method of sitting and their overall proximity, she lets out a sly smirk.
 
 
Arriving at the hotel with her box intact, Eva and her father eventually go to their room. They would have had separate rooms were it not for Robbie (Roberto Roney), a fashion photographer, and his models Belinda (Susan Hahn), a vision in a blue dress, and the sultry Monica (Gloria Cristal), who ended up taking one of their rooms (they had reserved two rooms). Also arriving at the hotel is Kevin Hall (Michael Sopkiw), an American bone hunter (he collects dinosaur bones), who shows up on the back of a banana truck.
 
 
Who else is in this movie? Oh, yeah, a bickering couple, Betty Heinz (Marta Anderson, Bare Behind Bars), who looks like a demented Marilyn Monroe impersonator, and Captain Johnny (Milton Rodríguez), a grizzled veteran of the Second Indochina War, who we meet at a cock fight. A cock fight? Don't tell me, both birds die horrible deaths. Actually, the birds seemed fine. On the whole, I was surprised by the lack of animal cruelty in this film. Kudos to Mr. Tarantini for not killing animals in order to tell his story.
 
 
Hey, man, not killing animals is great and all, but what about those upskirts you were talking about earlier? Oh yeah, the upskirts. Well, five or six upskirts occur during a fashion shoot by the side of the road. Wow, five or six. In just one scene? That's right. Though, technically, you're going to have to watch the deleted scenes to see one of the film's best upskirt shots. It involves the gorgeous Susan Hahn–but then again, ninety percent of film's upskirt moments involve Susan Hahn–getting into the car, and it's a thing of beauty. I don't usually watch deleted scenes, but something compelled me to do so in this case. At any rate, a flurry of upskirts take place during the roadside photo shoot, as local models dressed a tribespeople poke at Belinda (black panties) and Monica (white panties) with their spears. And in doing so, create a...yep, flurry of upskirts (which amounts to something like, oh, let's say, five separate upskirts).
 
 
Upskirt six belongs to Monica. Now this is her last upskirt, so make sure you take the time to enjoy it. The situation surrounding its implementation is actually quite comical, as a drunk (Paul Sky) at the aforementioned cock fight grabs the bottom of Monica's dress and proceeds to lift it up with an untoward hiking motion. Taking exception with this bit of public molestation (the drunk is slobbering all over her miracle of Brazilian booty engineering), Kevin Hall steps in and throws the drunk into some tables. Only problem being, his decision to take exception with the drunk's lewd conduct has caused the drunk's musclebound brothers (Paolo Pacelli and Norton Kays) to take exception with Kevin's exception. Don't feel sorry for Kevin, though. Sure, the drunk's musclebound brothers beat the crap out of him, but was their misguided heroism rewarded with sexual intercourse with a Brazilian model at the end of the day? I don't think so.
 
 
As a result of machinations I don't feel like getting into, Kevin, Captain Johnny, Betty, Robbie, Belinda, Monica, Eva Ibañez, Professor Pedro, and their French pilot all hop abroad a plane to a remote corner of the jungle. Okay, I understand why Kevin and Professor Pedro want to go to "Dinosaur Valley," but why are the rest of them going? How 'bout this: Who gives a shit? That works for me. Crammed into the small plane like a bunch of sardines, the travelers busy themselves with various activities: Kevin eats a banana, Belinda and Monica brush their hair, and Eva and Betty exchange nasty looks.
 
 
Suddenly, the plane hits a patch of turbulence and starts to hurl toward the earth. As the dinky aircraft bounces around in the sky, so do the passengers. And no one more so than Belinda, who steps up to the upskirt plate to knock upskirt #7 and upskirt #8 out of the park (wee, I just used a baseball metaphor, woo-hoo! yay!). Struggling to remain in her seat, Belinda thrashes about like a rag doll, and in doing so, gives us two peeks up her light peach dress.
 
 
After they crash land, the survivors debate whether or not to stay with the plane. Having served three tours in 'Nam, Captain Johnny announces that he's in command, and that they're leaving. Trekking through the jungle to sound of techno pop, the survivors follow Captain Johnny, who says he's leading them to a river (don't blink or you might just miss upskirt #8 - Belinda flashes some internal skirt material while walking over a giant log). I'm telling you, this Johnny fella doesn't know what he's talking about it. I mean...Quiet. It looks like Belinda is having trouble with her shoes. Yes! It would seem that her heels are slowing her down. Say what you will about Captain Johnny's leadership skills, he sure knows how to cobble on the fly.
 
 
Sitting her down on a log, Captain Johnny grabs Belinda's shoe and proceeds to slice off the heel with his trusty machete.
 
 
Instructing her to take off her other shoe (it only makes sense to alter both of them), Belinda lifts up her leg and slips it off her foot. In doing so, she sets in motion the events that will lead to upskirt #10.
 
 
The sight of her white panties pressing tightly against her sweaty undercarriage causes Captain Johnny temporarily lose focus on the task at hand. Noticing that Johnny is starting to lose focus, Betty says, "Enjoying the view, Johnny boy?" Oh, that Betty. Her emasculation skills are first-rate.
 
 
After cutting her heels down to size, the group continue through the jungle, where they come across a bunch of heads on sticks, encounter snakes, leaches and piranhas, and engage in an epic power struggle; well, Kevin and Johnny engage in an epic power struggle, the rest just sort of watch from the sidelines.
 
 
Saving the best for last, upskirt eleven, that's right, eleven, occurs when the group comes across a pool of fresh water. Diving into the water with a reckless form of abandon, the survivors splash around for awhile before eventually taking a much needed rest. Uninterested in decorum, Belinda sits in a manner that allows the world to see how her panties are holding up. And by "world," I mean Johnny, who gets a second dose of Belinda's succulent drawers (lucky bastard).
 
 
Was I sad when Belinda was finally forced to remove her weatherbeaten light peach dress and her put through the ringer white panties? You could say that. However, I thought Susan Hahn's innate gorgeousness, no matter what she was, or, in most cases, wasn't wearing, managed to shine through the humid haze that is Massacre in Dinosaur Valley. Reminding me of Naomi Watts, Susan Hahn must have been a real trooper, as she is captured, re-captured, groped by a frizzy-haired lesbian, chased through the jungle, rescued by Michael Sopkiw (a shotgun wielding badass if I ever saw one), almost sacrificed to a dinosaur god, shot at by a slave trader with a beer gut (Andy Silas), and has her panties are leered at multiple times by a piggish Vietnam vet, and, not to mention, Carlito (Jonas Dalbecchi), a tubby fuck who drives the models to and from their photo shoots. Speaking of Carlito, make sure to check out the aforementioned deleted scenes on the Shriek Show DVD, as they help flesh out the characters, especially Carlito, a little more.

Sunday, December 30, 2012

2019: After the Fall of New York (Sergio Martino, 1983)

Riding on a crowded subway at the height of rush hour is nothing compared to being forced to eat sewer rats off the end of a skewer. At least that's what I kept telling myself as I basked in the entertaining glow of 2019: After the Fall of New York, a post-apocalyptic thrill ride that has more villainous, ponytail-sporting brunettes than every Hollywood film that it purportedly "borrows" its ideas from. Oh, and I don't mean to imply that I like riding the subway during the hellish period known as "rush hour." On the contrary, I would much rather live in the radioactive wasteland that's depicted in this film's universe. Why is that, you ask? Well, for starters, everyone is sterile. Which is perfect, as I'm always getting chicks pregnant; they don't call me the Reverse Creampie Champion of South Central Ohio for the nothing (check their non-existent website if you don't believe me). In a world without babies, who do you think would come out on top after the fallout had cleared? If you said those pesky Europeans. You would be right. You wanna know why the Europeans rule what's left of the world? It's simple. No, it's got nothing to do with their healthy attitude toward sex or their obsession with soccer. Remember that brunette with the ponytail I alluded to earlier? You do? Excellent. You see, she's a woman, and she plays an important role in the daily operation of Eurac (a Europe run alliance that includes Africa and Asia). Sure, she's not the biggest cheese in the drawer where the cheese and other cheese-related products are kept (that distinction goes to some bald motherfucker), but at least she has a hand in running things. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for the Pan American Confederacy, a small yet determined group of Americans who hope to recapture the ground they lost to the Eurac, in that, they have no women working in positions of power. At least none that I saw hanging around their antiseptic Alaskan compound.
 
 
In hindsight, maybe the Americans don't have any women. Hold on a second, that doesn't make any sense. I'm sure there are some ladies kicking around somewhere. Unless they were all killed while being experimented on. Typical male thinking. Oh-no, women can't get pregnant! What are we going to do? I know, let's perform experiments on them–you know, in order to find out what's wrong with them. Never once thinking to themselves that it's the defective sperm floating around inside their testicles that's the problem. No matter what the reason is, I think it's safe to say that I'm reading way too much into the film's imaginary take on gender dynamics.
 
 
Look at the once flourishing city of New York City, it's skyline is a smoldering shell of its former self. Who's responsible for this? The Eurac monarchy, that's who, a powerful Euro-Afro-Asian alliance who rained nuclear hellfire on the city. Claiming what's left of Manhattan as their own, the Eurac, and gangs of local mercenaries, like, the Harlem Hunters, scour the streets, armed with crossbow-style rifles, spiky clubs, and flamethrowers, in search of New Yorkers.
 
 
You can spot them by looking at the pus-laden lesions on their faces.
 
 
The idea is to wipe out, exterminate, if you will, the last vestiges of human life in the city, so that the Eurac may set the stage for their new society. Only problem is, there hasn't been a human baby born in over fifteen years. Anyway, the flamethrowers look cool and the crossbow-style rifles fired by the Eurac cavalry sound eerily similar to the phasers used in The Beast in Space.
 
 
As the Eurac cavalry and their flamethrower-wielding allies cleanse the streets of Manhattan, Parsifal (Michael Sopkiw) is about to engage in some vehicular combat out in the Nevada desert. A bloodsport, complete with prizes and a punk-friendly audience, the no-nonsense Parsifal battles other cars, most of which are equipped with cannons; think of it as a live action version of Twisted Metal: Black. Speaking of demented clowns, I want the female clown automaton who repeats the line, "To the victor: long life and happiness," after Parsifal destroys/kills all the other drivers. What do you mean, you want it? Exactly that, I want to own the the creepy female clown automaton from 2019: After the Fall of New York; the herky-jerky way she moved, the eyeball on top of her head and the deadpan  manner in which she spoke was very appealing to me.
 
 
One of the rewards for winning the car war is a brunette sex slave named Flower (Siriana Hernandez), who he puts on the back of his three-wheeled motorcycle, and proceeds to hit the road.
 
 
Deciding that owning a brunette sex slave isn't all it's cracked up to be, he let's her ride off on a horse belonging to one of the guys Parsifal puts out of his misery by the side of the road (they were coughing up green slime as a result of drinking radioactive water). Zapped by a stun gun (the prop master who worked on Barbarella just called, he wants his rayguns back), Parsifal wakes up in the secret hideout for the Pan American Confederacy, which is located somewhere in Alaska. What do they want with Parsifal? It would seem that the president (Edmund Purdom) knows the whereabouts of the world's last fertile woman, and wants Parsifal, of all people, to bring her back so that they [The Pan American Confederacy] may start producing babies again.
 
 
Suspicious of the president's motives, Parsifal approaches his offer with the right amount of caution. I mean, why should he trust him? After all, he's a politician. Mulling it over for a few seconds, Parsifal reluctantly agrees to go on the mission. Since the president doesn't trust Parsifal either, he assigns Bronx (Paolo Maria Scalondro), a claw-handed former New Yorker (the Eurac killed his family and made him watch) and Ratchet (Romano Puppo), an eye-patch-sporting strongman, to accompany him.
 
 
Did the trumpet player who toots his horn just out Manhattan remind anyone of the scene from Cafe Flesh where Max Melodramatic plays the trumpet during a break in the show? No? Okay, moving on. The plan is simple: Find the fertile woman, and bring her back to Alaska. However, as they soon find out, getting into Manhattan is easy. It's getting out part that is downright impossible. Though, I should say, getting in isn't that east either. Unless you consider crawling through rat-infested sewers easy.
 
 
After battling some Harlem Hunters at an abandoned bus depot (great location, by the way), Parsifal, Bronx, and Ratchet find themselves back in the sewers. It's here where we're introduced to the Rat Eater King (Hal Yamanouchi) and his merry band of Rat Eaters. The sight of the clearly demented Rat Eater King, his face covered with lesions, whipping rats with his trusty whip was the definition of badass. You see, by whipping them, the Rat Eater King stuns the rats in order that his fellow Rat Eaters can stab them with greater efficiency (a stunned rat is easier to stab than a rat that hasn't been stunned). As the Rat Eaters are stabbing rats, Parsifal notices a blonde Rat Eater poking rats like a pro. Even though I thought the bald chick with the lesions on the side of her head was the most attractive Rat Eater, I can't argue with Parsifal's choice. At any rate, before he can make goo-goo eyes with Giara (Valentine Monnier), the threesome must save a little person, who, of course, is named Shorty (Louis Ecclesia), from being killed by the Rat Eaters (they think little people are demons).
 
 
A brawl takes place, one where we get to see Ratchet's ball bearings in action (they're attached to a wire and hidden in his sleeve). Unfortunately,  Parsifal and Bronx, and Ratchet are outnumbered and are eventually taken prisoner by the Rat Eaters. Forced to watch them eat rats and perform some kind of campfire rape lottery, things aren't looking too good for our heroes. Will they be able to find the world's last fertile woman in order to save humanity. And if they do find her, is it really worth making more people if this is world they're going to be born into? These and many other questions are bound to answered by the time 2019: After the Fall of New York has decided that its dolled out enough awesome to satisfy the unwashed rabble lurking in the dark.
 
 
No one will deny that director Sergio Martini (Torso) was heavily influenced by films such as Escape from New York, Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior and Planet of the Apes (a half man half ape character named "Big Ape," played by George Eastman, shows up during the film's final third), but the cool thing about this particular film is that it manages to expand upon the films that initially inspired it. In fact, I thought this film was actually better than Escape from New York. While I realize a statement like that could be interpreted as blasphemy, the fact is 2019: After the Fall of New York is simply more entertaining and does more with the post-apocalyptic, New York City in ruins premise. And on top of that, Michael Sopkiw (Massacre in Dinosaur Valley) is just so darned likable.
 
 
I would be remiss if I failed to mention the stunning performance given by Anna Kanakis (The New Barbarians) as Ania, the Eurac's second in command. Channeling the Baroness from G.I. Joe, Valaria from Robot Holocaust, and Meg Foster's Evil-Lyn from Masters of the Universe, Anna Kanakis, her giant ponytail tied to perfection, imbues her character with enough ruthlessness and paranoia to sooth my wounded soul for at least six to seven hours. As I watched Anna stomp around Eurac headquarters in her black skintight outfit, I thought to myself: Fuck any film that doesn't feature a strong, fashion forward female villain at its centre. I mean, seriously, fuck them all. If you're not going to give me what I want, like, 2019: After the Fall of New York does and then some, then I'm afraid I'm not going to watch your lame ass movie with same amount of enthusiasm. Oh, sure. I'll sit in front of you for ninety or so minutes, but my heart won't be in it.
 
 
"My ponytail is better than yours. Deal with it." ~ Ania (Warning: This line is not actually uttered in the film.)


video uploaded by revokcom

Special thanks to The Film Connoisseur for suggesting that my eyes and their ball-like housing make a date with this totally righteous flick.