Showing posts with label Mark Blankfield. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mark Blankfield. Show all posts

Friday, September 5, 2008

Angel III: The Final Chapter (Tom DeSimone, 1988)

The least talked about entry in the teen prostitution saga, Angel III: The Final Chapter seems miles away from the unsavoury sidewalks of Hollywood featured in the first two films. That might be because it starts off in New York City, where Molly "Angel" Stewart" now works as a freelance photographer. However, I think it has more to do with the fact that 1984 and 1988 are two totally different animals when it comes to "Living in the '80s." You see, the eighties can be broken down into two separate, yet equally important groups: The early '80s and the late '80s. The former was awash with creativity and avant-garde ideas, while the latter was a semi-bloated corpse yearning to remain relevant. For example, instead of going out and buying colourful bracelets at the mall and having irregular sex with Rick James, people in the late '80s seemed content to lie on their chesterfields watching individual beads of sweat struggling to outwit the mighty grip of Paula Abdul's world class thighs on their once state-of-the-art televisions. And if you ask me, that's a huge difference. Now, don't get me wrong, the latter half of the decade did contribute a fair amount of enchantment to the cinematic landscape (Teen Witch, Heathers, Killer Klowns from Outer Space), but Angel III: The Final Chapter isn't quite in the same league as those flicks.

The series has been completely overhauled and retains hardly any of the charm of the first two films. For starters, Angel creator Frank Vincent O'Neill has been replaced by Tom DeSimone (Reform School Girls), a man who definitely knows his way around a bag of sleaze. Yet, this guy just doesn't have the same visual flair as O'Neill. I mean, Los Angeles looks so drab and boring in this chapter. And jettisoning all the colourful characters that made the first two films such a pleasure to wallow in was an unfortunate turn of events.

I do, however, have to commend Mr. DeSimone for devising a plot that contains sexual slavery, cocaine distribution, x-rated cinema, and an ice cream truck. Oh, and not to mention, thank him for filling the screen with a cavalcade of naked breasts.

Anyway, the actual plot, and there is one, involves Angel being forced back onto the mean streets of Hollywood when she learns that her long lost sister Michelle (Tawny Fere from Rockula) has gotten mixed up with a distasteful throng of slave traders lead by a pimping visionary played by Maud "Octopussy" Adams.

Saddled with unenviable task of replacing Betsy Russell is the wonderfully named Mitzi Kapture. (Her kooky handle sounds like the working title of my unpublished guide to stalking bubbleheaded coeds.) Yeah, well, Mitzi does a competent job of filling out Angel's hooker wear. Despite the fact she doesn't really get to whore it up beyond humiliating a pimp and stealing his car.


On the other hand, I did enjoy the parts where she worked as a porno extra. The friendship/bond she forms with the other actresses was on the cusp of being fascinating, as it produced some insight into hopelessness some women must go through when they find themselves trapped in the unending shame spiral that is sexual exploitation.

Unfortunately, the romantic relationship Angel forms with a non-pornographic film editor played by Kin Shriner (General Hospital) was pretty much a dead on arrival.

The immensely talented Mark Blankfield (Jekyll and Hyde... Together Again) tries his best to imbue the proceedings with some playfulness as Angel's flamboyant, Disraeli-quoting friend, Spanky. But he can't quite match the get-up-and-go wackiness of Susan Tyrrell and Rory Calhoun (whose presence is sorely missed in this chapter).

The legendary Richard Roundtree (Shaft), the sensational Toni Basil (Rockula), cult actress extraordinaire Laura Albert (Mrs. Van Houten from Dr. Caligari) and the ubiquitous Dick Miller (A Bucket of Blood) are also in the film, but with the exception of Mr. Roundtree, their parts aren't much to brag about in terms of screen time. Which is shame, because when I saw Toni Basil appear onscreen looking all fabulous and junk, I figured she was gonna be Angel's new sidekick -- you know, ala Susan Tyrrell's Solly Mosler from the original film. But sadly, that never materialized.

Apparently there is an Angel 4 (Angel 4: Undercover) out there somewhere that stars the very blonde Darlene Vogel and a no doubt bewildered Roddy McDowell. But since I have heard nothing but negative things about it, I've decided to skip it, for now. Which is kinda a relief, because it doesn't seem to be commercially available (you know, other than used VHS copies on Amazon).


video uploaded by Movie Trailers
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Monday, August 25, 2008

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
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