Nemesis (Albert Pyun, 1992)

In a world where blood splattered walls and arterial spray have been replaced by sparky embers and frazzled circuit boards, Nemesis exists solely as pornographic wish fulfillment for those whose dream it has been to live on the fringes of society as a human-machine hybrid with conflicted loyalties. A Front Line Assembly album cover come to life, this cutting edge science fiction action flick will no doubt test one's tolerance for overlong shootouts, shoddy Germanic accents, and the act of diving off a cliff in a tropical setting. But those willing to look past its inherent wonkiness, the rewards are immeasurable; especially in terms of watching comely cyborg chicks in short skirts shoot automatic weapons at a wily French dude. A series of cleverly demented fire fights punctuated by William Gibson-esque dialogue and bluntly-worded one-liners, this film is a bouncy trip into the near future that will surely keep your gears oiled and your mind in a constant state of perpetual motion. If the expression "sparky embers" sounds familiar, well, that's because I also used it to describe the gun battles that take place in Radioactive Dreams, a post-apocalyptic adventure film from 1985. Which of course makes perfect sense seeing as that both are directed by Albert Pyun, the master when it comes to creating iridescent shootouts. (If I'm not mistaken, the gunplay featured in his version of Captain America were kinda sparkly as well.)

Anyway, taking spark-replete firefights to whole another level of... sparkiness, Mr. Pyun gets downright nutty with the pyrotechnics this time around. And what makes it so great is that he is completely justified. I mean, what do you think would happen if a room full of cyborgs started shooting metal projectiles at each other at an accelerated velocity? Exactly. The amount of sparks produced as a result of this bullet-fueled mayhem would be off the sparky charts.

Getting us from one spark-emitting encounter to another is the blank expression of Olivier Gruner, a Parisian kick boxer turned actor. Playing Alex, a L.A. cop in the year 2027, the monosyllabic tough guy is constantly being upgraded with mechanical parts after each assignment. These tuneups have become so commonplace, that he has started to worry about the structural integrity of his everlasting soul. At what point does he stop being human? Deep, mildly philosophical stuff.

Tired of hunting down cyber-terrorists and hackers, the conflicted cop moves down to Rio de Janeiro to start a new life as a black-market dealer of cybertronic doodads. The net may be vast and infinite, but this doesn't prevent his old employers from tracking him down. Forcing him to partake in a dangerous mission to locate a rogue agent named Jared (Marjorie Monaghan) in Shang Loo, Java, his bosses Farnsworth (Tim Thomerson) and Maritz (Brion James) install a small bomb in his heart to ensure his cooperation. Upon arriving in Shang Loo, Alex quickly becomes an unwilling pawn in an epic battle brewing between humans and cyborgs. And since he's somewhere in the middle, Alex must choose which side he's on.

Helping him make his decision is a rebel leader (Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa), a big-haired cyborg in a trench-coat (Deborah Shelton), and a limber rapscallion named Max Impact (Merle Kennedy). These three characters (especially the Lori Petty-esque Miss Kennedy) are essential to the non-shootout scenes, in that they utter the majority of the film's spoken dialogue. Don't get me wrong, he can blast his way out of an awkward situation like nobodies business, but my confidence in Olivier Gruner as an human actor is a tad on the sketchy side.

Strangely, Marjorie Monaghan is quite clumsy as an actress while in the flesh – though I did enjoy the shortness of her skirt (and the equally short skirt sported by her blonde friend, a leggy Marjean Holden)–yet, she was rather competent while compressed in the digital realm. It's weird how that happens.

It's true, I never saw Nemesis in its entirety before now, but the "cyborg fucking shootout" in the Shang Loo hotel has been in contact with my illustrious eyeballs on several occasions over the years. I first saw the infamous shootout on cable while volunteering over at a community centre for wayward she-male's with low self-esteem back in the mid-90s and more recently in an online setting.

However, seeing it in its proper context–you know, with the rest of the film in tow–has elevated it to a somewhat legendary status.

The sheer number of sparks employed during this sequence alone is enough to glorify it with exaggerated praise, the fact that Olivier Gruner escapes his hotel room by shooting his way through the floor–rendering a cyborg inoperative along the way–is what makes this scene the awe-inspiring spectacle that it truly is. Seriously, the person who came up with the idea of having him create his own personal elevator utilizing his guns is a freaking genius. And just the mere thought of Deborah Shelton exchanging an inordinate amount of gunfire with those two lumbering cyborgs, all the while, Gruner mows his way through the floor, never fails to bring a misguided tear to my eye.

video uploaded by hail2theking4051

...

Cherry 2000 (Steve De Jarnatt, 1987)

As everyone knows, losing access to your robot girlfriend can be a major inconvenience. On the other hand, losing access to your robot girlfriend in a futuristic netherworld where guys depend on their robot girlfriends almost exclusively for sex and companionship is the definition of sadness. Such is the kooky, yet strangely touching framework for the dazzling Cherry 2000 (a.k.a. Boneca Mecânica), a masterful, post-apocalyptic, action-infused joy ride extravaganza from director Steve De Jarnatt (Miracle Mile) that asks the question: What's better? The dependability of robot love or the unpredictability of real love? The proudest person ever to hail from Anaheim, California, the film follows Sam Treadwell (a mild-mannered department store employee) and his plan to obtain another Cherry 2000 (the name and model number of his mechanical lady friend). You see, his Cherry broke while he was making out with it in a heap of soapy suds, and unable to get it fixed and unsatisfied with the selection of robot women at the showroom, Sam decides hire a bounty hunter and secure the metallic passion he desires by any means necessary. Even if that means heading out to the barren Zone 7 and hanging out with a shapely, porcelain-skinned non-robot.

Well-nourished with the kind of incoherent shoot-outs and last minute escapes I get proper moist over, the sort of visionary (sentient sex dolls are just around the corner) movie is drenched in an off-beat style that exacerbates its uniqueness and sports a creative set design that'll keep your eyes occupied. (This creativity is best viewed during the scenes at the Glu Glu Club and the Sky Ranch.)

The film's crowning achievement, however, is the splendiferous crane vs. automobile sequence. Our horny for robots hero and E. (the bounty hunter, or "tracker" as they like to be called) take on Lester (Zone 7's warlord extraordinaire) and his unmerry band of henchmen at what looks like a giant quarry. What makes this scene standout–you know, besides its unequaled flair–is the fact that everyone involved is using missile-based weaponry. We're talking rocket propelled grenades, rocket launchers, stinger missiles, and good old fashion bazookas.

It should be stated that the tin can loving Sam uses an uzi during the precarious mayhem, which the last I checked isn't exactly a "missile-based" weapon. But on the positive side of things, his uzi does spit out shell casings when fired (a very important detail in my mind). Anyway, this action centerpiece sets the tone for rest of the movie. In that, its sheer awesomeness imbues the proceedings with a cocksure veneer.

Proving that high camp is where she is at her most formidable, Melanie Griffith is a revelation as tracker Edith 'E.' Johnson. Inexplicably, the squeaky-voiced starlet has mainly focused on serious drama, but I think the actress is best suited for roles like this. Roles that accentuate her innate badness, as suppose to ones that expose her lack of talent. Giving her a mop of red hair and a silenced assault rifle was also smart move on Mr. De Jarnatt's part. Anything to mute the acute lameness we all know is bubbling under the surface.

The aforementioned Sam Treadwell is portrayed by the blandly named David Andrews. I thought he played the everyman angle to his character quite well. He also had a quiet intensity about him and you really got the sense that he loved that robot.

The manly Tim Thomerson is quickly becoming one of my favourite actors. Sure, I've only seen him in a couple things here and there, but from what little I have seen, he strikes me as a fun guy. I loved the demonic glee he displays as Lester. I mean, he may be a dictator and a psychopath, but he's so darn likable.

Rounding out the cast is Jennifer Balgobin (Dr. Caligari) as a hotel clerk, the legendary Ben Johnson as retired bounty hunter who collects toaster ovens, the lovely Cameron Milzer adds some far-out sex appeal as Lester's gal pal, and Pamela Gidley provides the mainstream sex appeal as the in demand titular robot. Oh, and keep an eye for cameos by Laurence Fishburne as a Glu Glu Club pimp and Brion James as a rival Tracker.

...

Jekyll and Hyde... Together Again (Jerry Belson, 1982)

One of the giddiest, most hyperactive films I've seen in quite some time, Jekyll and Hyde... Together Again, the scatter-shot comedy loosely based on a novel by some asshole named Robert Louis Stevenson, caused the left side of my thoracic cavity to ache as I foolishly tried to prevent myself from laughing in an exuberant manner. (What can I say? I have super-thin walls and have always respected the nocturnal slumbering habits of my neighbours.) Seriously, though, the film's rapid fire jokes (every frame is guaranteed to be filled with something stupid) and overall politically incorrectness (two sentient African-American lawn jockeys are indifferent to a Caucasian man's ledge-based peril) had me rocking back-and-forth in the foetal position. Trying my best to wipe the self-satisfied grin off my face, the film force fed me the funny.  The story, as one would expect, revolves around dedicated surgeon Dr. Jekyll and his desire to further understand humanities more animalistic side. However, since it's 1982, and no one wants to see a movie about top hat and cloak-wearing dandy lurching down the foggy streets of London, this film's integrity plagued doctor doesn't just transform into some boring dickweed with a serious case of the grumpies. Uh-uh, his alter ego is an ultra-horny, cocaine-addicted (magic pimp powder), racially insensitive car thief with an extreme penchant for horseradish, chicken sushi, and sheer pantyhose. The electrified hairdo, the gold tooth with the word "love" engraved on it, and an unfaltering erection also add to Hyde's unique allure. The strange dichotomy between the two sides of Jekyll and Hyde's personality is also reflected in the ladies the kooky twosome choose to fondle and eat dinner with on a regular basis.

On the one lube-covered hand, Dr. Jekyll's fiancé Mary (a sexy Bess Armstrong) has a relatively bland temperament and seems to have a bit of an elitist air about her (equestrian will do that). While, on the other, more-or-less lube-free hand, Mr. Hyde's special lady friend, Ivy (an even sexier Krista Errickson) fronts a new wave band (The Shitty Rainbows), is only mildly averse to fornicating in the produce isle, and enjoys playing Pac-Man.

Of course, watching the jewelry adorned Mr. Hyde behave spastic in public and stalk Ivy in the vicinity of boxes of Apple Jacks and Fruit Loops is way more entertaining than watching Jekyll help those in distress.

Nevertheless, the sight of the hangover-ridden Dr. J jumping alongside Mary's horse did bring a figurative tear to my eye. Which is something I didn't expect in a movie that features a bra and pantie sporting Tim Thomerson and close-up shots that emphasize the soothing depth of Cassandra Peterson's cleavage.

Giving one of the most manic performances in comedy history, Mark Blankfield (Angel III: The Final Chapter) puts the "maimed cock" in cockamamie. The success of this idiotic endeavour rests solely on the bony shoulders of the curly haired comedian, and never have I seen someone succeed so righteously at bringing the zany to such a satisfying simmer.

A teaching tool for those interested in learning how to act like a complete and utter jackass on-screen, Mark's stellar work as the pimp-tastic miscreant, in my sheltered, Shetland pony humping mind, is a work of buffoonish art. Each convulsion, pelvic thrust, and irresponsible line uttered seemed so meticulously crafted, that it was like watching a master chef make a mediocre quiche taste like professional intercourse. Yeah, he's that good.

Hands down, one of the funniest pieces of filmed entertainment I have seen all week.

video uploaded by mrewel12

...