Showing posts with label Danny Trejo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Danny Trejo. Show all posts

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Cuts Like a Machete

Grindhouse was the ode to 70's era exploitation movies Robert Rodriguez co-directed with Quentin Tarantino. Machete is the grindhouse movie Rodriquez promised but failed to deliver in his half of the twin-bill extravaganza. Machete which appeared in Grindhouse as a cheeky one-off trailer for a movie never made, is everything Rodriques' bloody but aimless Planet Terror is not. It is forward-paced kinetic thriller and classic 70's grindhouse actioner with plenty of bad(ass) dialogue and gratuitous nudity glommed on like so much icing on a cake.

Hatchet-faced Danny Trejo was born for this role as "one mad Mexican" who has a literal axe to grind with evil political operative Michael Booth (Jeff Fahey) who double-crosses him while in the employ of evil Senator John McLaughlin (a thinly veiled John McCain), played with giddy, greasy slipperiness by Robert DeNiro, and under the thumb of the even more evil Steven Segal, who essays the paunchy but serenely venal power broker, Torrez.

Add to this savory stew a estrogen heavy dose of Michele Rodriguez as a tough mama amalgram of Cesar Chavez and Che Guevara and Jessica Alba as a sweet-faced Federal Agent who plays "beauty" to Trejo's machete wielding "beast."

The gratuitous nudity is delivered in a small but bracing dose by actress Mayra Leal as a naked chica who gives new meaning to "reaching out to touch someone" in the opening sequence. It is delivered in large, loopy, (hopefully) drug-induced gallops by former A-list actress Lindsay Lohan, who plays Jeff Fahey's wild-child daughter, and Alicia Rachel Marek, who plays Lohan's alcoholic mother. Lohan looks great naked but you can't help but wonder "WHAT WAS SHE THINKING?" when she agreed to take this role.

In one great set-piece, a character explains how the human body has twenty feet of small intestines right before Machete puts the knowledge to bloody and effective use. You'll never think of seven yards of guts in the same way again.

Machete the movie holds together better than most Robert Rodriquez movies, which often come off as half-baked despite great cinematic ingredients. One wonders whether to ascribe this Rodriguez or his credited co-director, Ethan Maniquis or, perhaps, even his co-writer, Alvaro Rodriguez. In any event, rarely has ten million dollars been better employed on the big screen.

~rave!

Friday, September 25, 2009

Milwaukee Film Festival - Modus Operandi

Went to see Modus Operandi tonight on the second night of the
inaugural Milwaukee Film Festival. The screening was held at the
Oriental Theater, the last remaining local movie emporium. The
cavernous theater has been converted into a two-plex, but they
have retained the ornate rococo charm of the main auditorium
which is chocked full of "oriental" kitsch - including a trio of
Buddhas, each in its own illuminated cove, on either side of the
theater and, oddly, several replicas of the mechanical woman from
Fritz Lang's Metropolis.

Modus Operandi was sold as "Sexy women, CIA agents, spies,
villains and femme fatales populate this blaxploitation-meets-art-
house story of revenge, which follows a retired C.I.A. agent deter-
mined to find his wife's murderer." Which is all true, but the whole
enterprise is so ineptly and indulgently executed that it is truly
painful to watch.

The only thing worse than the writing,directing and editing (all
by Frankie Latina, a jack of all trades and the master of none) is
the acting.

(Mr. Latina was in the theater to introduce the movie and to bask
in pre-movie applause. One of us had presence of mind to be
embarrassed, afterwards).

Watching Modus Operandi is like watching one of Andy Sedaris'
randomly brutal bikini movies without the former Playboy
Playmates - or the production values.

Watching Modus Operandi is like watching one of Russ Meyer's
aimlessly messy non-sequitor movies - without the bodacious ta-tas
(you can forgive a lot with bodacious ta-tas - witness the whole Pam
Grier oeuvre).

In other words, Modus Operandi has nothing to recommend it. Not
even the great Danny Trejo who is given precious little to do before
ending the movie by taking out a bad guy with a corkscrew to the
eye. By the time the interminable 77 minute movie ended, I wanted
to corkscrew my eyes out, too.

~(no) rave!