Staplerfahrer Klaus has been one of my favorite accidental discoveries for a long time now and has long since become mandatory viewing (as the supporting film) for anyone that comes over to my place to watch DVDs. A satire of educational films like those we of the US were forced to watch in Drivers Ed, the roughly 9-minute-long film looks and feels like a true industrial safety film up until the humour — and splatter — kicks in. In Germany, the film has an additional “realistic” edge in that it is narrated by Egon Högen, a voice well-known from educational series and other miscellaneous voiceovers. Klaus himself is played by Konstantin Graudus, a familiar television actor. His last feature film work worth mentioning was in Christian Alvart's lousy serial-killer-vs.-faith film Antikörper / Antibodies (2005/trailer), which seems to get rave reviews everywhere but I thought sucked deer-dick. Stefan Prehn’s website is here; regrettably, I have been unable to locate Jörg Wagner's contact information.
The most apt statement to be found on the web about Wong Tai-Loi's 1981 film Fei dao you jian fei dao / Return of the Deadly Blade is found on the website Trash City Film Blitz, which compares the continuity of the film as being like "trying to follow, say, Buffy, if all you saw was the fights." The (unanswerable) question does naturally arise as to whether or not the Shaw Brothers production was such a scotch-tape affair upon its original release, but the 85-minute version found on the Eastwestdvd that was available at 99 cent stores throughout Las Vegas, Nevada, in November 2008 – as a double feature with The Golden Destroyers (1985), a film by Gordon Chan, who is also responsible for the popular piece of Hong Kong flotsam Fei hu xiong xin / The Final Option (1994) — is a true example of a film made incomprehensible by its editing. Still, the general inanity of the entire project, and some entertaining fight scenes, manages to make the film mildly entertaining if one is in a particularly non-judgmental and non-demanding mood. Of course, one can’t help but wonder about a culture that presents a rapist as the secondary hero, rape as something to laugh about and, in turn, more or less promotes the idea that a way to a woman’s heart is to bonk her against her will. But despite this more than questionable stance, a film that features men using steel umbrellas and fans as weapons of defense, a fight in a public cave sauna fought with bath towels, attacking ninjas on water skis and an important character that twirls around in what has to be described as a flying wheelchair cannot be completely despised. As mentioned above, the plot is virtually undecipherable, but by the end of the movie a general storyline does emerge. Big Brother Lung (David Chiang of 1974's The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires) is out to find the legendary Master Li (Norman Chu) so as to revenge the death of his father. The Lonely Winner (Yasuaki Kurata), a good-time guy that likes to dip his wick in unwilling females is in search of someone who can finally beat him in a fight, and he sets his sights on Master Li. The Lonely Winner is also being followed by one of his prior, once-unwilling wickwetters; though he hardly realizes it, he is actually as in love with her as she is with him (an important point, as it emerges later in the film). The paths of the two fighters continually cross on their respective journeys, which end in the mystic Lunar World, where the final big showdown with the Moon Goddess occurs amidst the revelation of all sorts of unexpected family secrets. OK, given a choice between this flick and say, Sien nui yau wan / A Chinese Ghost Story* (1987/trailer) or Do ma daan / Peking Opera Blues (1986/trailer), Return of the Deadly Blade loses hands down; but if those two Hong Kong masterpieces aren’t around and your weed is good and you’re bored shitless, this oddity does have its appeal. An appeal that would substantially increase if the DVD formatting were better, for at least on the Eastwestdvd DVD the film transfer is atrocious, framed in such a way that most of what occurs left or right is cut down the middle. Indeed, much more so than the film's lack of continuity or clarity, the formatting is actually to blame for destroying much of the visual pleasure that this early hidden-wire-flying-fighters film might have had to offer.
*The fight choreography of Chinese Ghost Story and its sequels (among other films) was done by one Siu-Tung Ching, who also is responsible for the fight choreography of this film. Here, in Return of the Deadly Blade, he still seems to be learning the ropes — although he still does a damned good job.
A group of six (unnaturally) dissimilar friends get tired of the condescension and conceitedness of their seventh friend – Nacho (Gustavo Salmerón), an artist that does stuff like sneaking into morgues to photograph the dead for inspiration but, in the end, basically just repaints details of the imagery of Hieronymus Bosch – and decide during an overnight camping party to punk him good. The particularly retarded prank, however, goes majorly wrong, resulting in one dead body and six people who don't want to go down for it and have their lives ruined. Four years later, long after everything is dead and buried, a detective focuses in on the case again when a junkie shows up with the identity card of the "missing" artist. In fear that the detective might learn where they buried the body, all six of them go back and dig it up, but before they can move it, the abandoned building catches afire. They barely manage flee the structure, which burns to the ground, but soon thereafter they begin, one by one, to die horrible deaths – starting with the beautiful Candela (Elsa Pataky – seen here in one piece in a photo not taken from the film) who gets torn apart by dogs. Iván (Fele Martínez), the friend that was closest to Nacho, is plagued by visitations from his dead friend, but when he tells the others of the visitation's dire forewarnings of terrible events, they all assume he is both a nutcase and the killer – and the fact that he is basically stalking his ex-girlfriend Clara (María Esteve) does little to help his reputation. Only when his sudden appearance saves Clara does her opinion change, but can they avoid a violent death like that suffered by all their friends? The Art of Dying, as El Arte de morir is known in non-Spanish-speaking lands, is a slickly made horror film that manages to overcome some truly horrendous gaffs in the initially textbook slasher script and acting department to develop into something rare: a body-count film that transcends its initial derivativeness and become both enthralling and, at times, scary. But then, although the bodies do drop one by one, the film is much more a supernatural horror film than a simple 10-little-indians flick, for there is far more of Carnival of Souls (1962 / trailer) or Jacob's Ladder (1990 / trailer) in The Art of Dying than, say, Scream (1996 / trailer) or Friday the 13th (1980 / trailer). On the one hand, scriptwriters Curro Royo and Juan Vicente Pozuelo – the duo behind the script of Trece campanadas / 13 Curses (2002 / trailer), another seldom seen Spanish horror flick that agitates ever so slightly in an art circle – deserve some respect for managing to save their script mid-way through by injecting an unexpected and surprising (if not somewhat implausible) twist, but on the other hand they deserve a good slap in the face for regurgitating such an abominable dramaturgy the first half hour. The basic premise of The Art of Dying cribs mightily from I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997 / trailer) and any number of Golden Age and non-Golden Age teenagers-with-a-secret-who-begin-to-die flicks, and like so many of the worst of the genre, The Art of Dying fails to bring together a believable circle of friends. True, for the most part the six remain all equally unlikable, but they never actually click as a believable clique. That the realm in which they live (extremely well) is, as always, absent of any parental figures – with the exception of the grieving father of the young artist gone missing that serves both as a symbol of guilt and recovery – can be overlooked for they are old enough, per say, not to have any umbilical cords left, but as friends they already don’t seem to fit together before the big bad event even happens and thus remain unconvincing. Likewise, when all characters are uniformly dislikable – and not one character is introduced in such a way that makes them so (although some do manage to gain some sympathy as the film proceeds) – it is very hard to root for anyone, or to care when they die. Lastly, the second key event of the film, their return to the location where Nacho is buried, is brought about in such a contrived and unbelievable fashion that the event almost ruins the film; indeed, director Álvaro Fernández Armero – a director of comedies and dramas on his first fling in the genre of horror – deserves a hearty slap on the back for managing to exhibit enough directorial style and control that the viewer does not turn off the DVD player at this point with a groan. It is from here onwards, however, that The Art of Dying finally gains its solid footing and becomes an engrossing rumination on love and sacrifice, guilt and redemption, and (to an extent) guilt and revenge. The highly original editing of the film – events are not 100% linear, but are crosscut from the past to the present as needed to advance the story – assists in maintaining the general sense of unease, in part by making unexplainable events (like a bar that is normally full suddenly being empty) as strange to the viewer as the person involved. In short, despite its flaws The Art of Dying is an amazingly effective, surprisingly creepy and at times frightening horror film that deserves more attention than it has gotten. The soundtrack, with its classic-like and ethno drum and bass interludes, is totally bitching, too.
At what point does a B-film become a Z-film? Is the qualification based only on budget, or is it based on the end product? 7 Mummies must have had a big enough budget, for it could afford a relatively large cast of actors with contemporary B and horror film heritage – most of whom actually manage to come across as if they at least think they are in a real film – and a shitload of extras, but the final product is, well, pretty insipid. Indeed, you know that scene in Austin Powers (1997/trailer) in which the bad guys do that stereotypical maniacal laugh so long that it becomes funny? The same thing happens three times in this film, and the last time it happens, at the end of the film – a replay of the first laugh scene, actually – the viewer really gets the feeling that it is (s)he who is getting laughed at for having sat through the whole film. 7 Mummies starts off with an Old West scene of what looks to be two mentally deficient cowpokes dragging a coffin through the desert under the heat of the midday sun. A bump over a stone and the coffin-end breaks open, spilling gold coins. As the two cowpokes stand there gleefully giggling as if they just successfully impregnated their cows, a sword-wielding cowboy rides in from somewhere and beheads the in-breds (off-screen). Next, we see a flipped prison transport van at the side of the road in the middle of the desert. Once the male guard is offed and female guard (Cerina Vincent as Lacy) over-powered, the six escapees – the good guy of them all is obvious 'cause he's the tall, good-looking, strong and silent type (Billy Wirth as Travis – Come to me, baby!) – wander off towards the Mexican border, with Lacy in tow. Along the way they first discover a golden medallion and then stumble upon an old Apache (Danny Trejo, obviously hard up for cash), who promptly tell them of a hidden treasure in a close-by town. The greedy college grads that they all are, the convicts change directions to go to town. Reaching the town, not one of them finds it odd that it is inhabited by refugees from a Spaghetti Western and, instead, hit the local saloon for a couple of free beers. Soon the sun goes down and for about ten minutes 7 Mummies becomes a really lousy imitation of From Dusk Till Dawn (1996/trailer) as everyone in the bar except our cons turns into flesh-eating ghouls. (The ghouls in the bar make nary an appearance after the bar fight.) The rest of the film is spent following the last survivors as they run around the town trying to escape the town’s sheriff (Billy Glide) – the cowboy with the sword – and deputy (played by Thadd Turner, a true Ol’ West fanatic, who is also responsible for the flick’s asinine script) and also find the treasure. Which they do, in an underground room located at the end of a tunnel they discover in the town church. But, hold on now, partner! That there treasure be protected by seven kung fu fighting Jesuit mummies, so in no time everyone is kick-fighting and flying through the air in true Hong Kong fashion. The survivors decide to skedaddle, and soon the last two (guess which ones) are zooming out of town on a Harley, the now mummified sheriff in hot pursuit on his horse, his sword a-swinging... Adjectives that fit the movie? How about: Derivative, inconsistent, illogical, idiotic, dull, predictable, ridiculous, cheesy, laughable, irritating... Get the (Z-)picture? About the best thing that can be said about 7 Mummies is that unlike the general trend of U.S. American B-films, the film actually shows tits: Humongous, silicone-engorged love pillows that look like they could knock you unconscious with one swing! Regrettably, they are shown but briefly and are badly lit, so even that short-lived highlight doesn’t do much to save the film. Nor, for that matter, do the occasional gore highlights, like the nifty decapitation scene and the scene with the poked-out eyes. To say the film could have been better is as obvious as it is an understatement; the real crunch would be to say how it could have been better. In this regard, much like the equally retarded tax write off Museum of the Dead (2004/trailer), which evidences about as much talent but a smaller budget, this reviewer is of the opinion 7 Mummies would have been a lot better had it never been made.
