BARE KNUCKLES

d. Don Edmonds (1977)

Bare Knuckles is sometimes described as a Blaxploitation film, despite the fact that it was produced, written and directed by a white man, and, after about forty minutes, dispenses entirely with its few black cast members and concentrates exclusively on Robert Viharo, a bepermed and moustachioed action hero of obviously Italian descent. But the original poster cannily emphasises the black actors and it does feel like a Blaxploitation film: fast, fun, daft, full of fighting, shouting and running around. At the end, I felt like I'd been watching it for about ten minutes.

Viharo plays Zachery Kane, a principled and unconventional ex-cop turned bounty hunter. In a quick montage, it's also revealed that he is a semi-pro boxer (who trains in jeans and a polo neck jumper), a kung fu expert and that he plays the flute, albeit in a way that produces synthesised electronic tones. He lives on pizza and sleeps in an office plastered with 'Wanted' posters. When a perverted psycho killer starts picking off young women, Kane decides to catch him, partly for the reward and partly because Kane is a good guy with a strong moral compass and incredibly tight jeans.

The killer, revealed early on, is a horrible, incredible creation: a stunted rich kid (in his 30s) who was so disturbed by his Mother's promiscuity that he grew up full of hate and sickness and murder and incestuous lust. Rather like one of the younger Trumps, the only way he can feel whole is to don a leather suit and a ragged gimp mask and stab young women to death, hissing and wheezing in a most disturbing way. He's a really horrible guy, with no redeeming features whatsoever and, when he kisses his Mom and tries to slip his tongue in, you can't wait for Kane to bring him to justice, preferably using a flaming chainsaw.

The last quarter of the film is a chase: by car, by motorcycle, on foot. The finale of the action, like Grease, takes place in a partially flooded storm drain. Unlike Grease, however, death is on the cards for at least one of our combatants. I won't spoil it by telling you which one, other than to say I actually pumped my fist and said 'yes!' when it happened.     

DEVIL'S EXPRESS

d. Barry Rosen (1977)

Another ramshackle, hyperactive, hugely endearing Blaxploitation Kung Fu film, this time with a very welcome supernatural element and the intermittent but powerful presence of Warhawk Tanzania, who should have been a much bigger star because he's fucking awesome, like a black Jason King with mad martial arts skills and even madder hair.

Warhawk plays Luke Curtis, a cool dude on a spiritual quest and a kung fu obsession that takes him to Hong Kong for expert tuition. He takes along his best pal, Rodan, a nice guy who, nevertheless, refuses to take things seriously and, as such, is always getting into trouble, mainly with The Tongs, who want him dead. While in Hong Kong, Rodan discovers a cave in a skull strewn valley. In the cave is an amulet, which he decides to pinch and wear as a medallion. The removal of the amulet unleashes a demonic creature, who follows the two friends to New York and takes up residence in the subway, subsisting on wayward travellers, who get dragged off the platform and torn apart. 

This goes on for a while, and is counterpointed by Rodan and a previously unintroduced friend being chased by The Tongs, who they battle with over and over. Rodan even kills a few, like shelling peas, and with as much thought. Things lose focus here, and become slightly confused. Lots of red paint gets used.

After some time, the two seemingly disparate elements combine when Rodan is chased down into the subway station and is killed by the monster he set free, having his face jammed into an electrical generator. It’s a quite clever twist, and slightly saddening as, for all his idiocy and murder, he was a likeable doofus. This (finally!) brings Warhawk Tanzania into the frame. Out for revenge, he dons a pair of gold lame dungarees and goes down into the subway to kick some ancient demon ass. I’m not making this up. He meets the demon, who manifests itself in a number of ways (including as Warhawk’s barely seen girlfriend but not, strangely, as Rodan, which would have been much more interesting) before reverting to its standard form, a kind of big, ugly pile of aged mince. After a humongous battle, Warhawk uses his hard hands, heavy feet and the groovy oriental amulet to defeat the demon and make New York safe again. Which is a relief, as I really like it there.

Unbelievably, after this starring role Warhawk Tanzania has no further IMDB credits. What sort of world are we living in?

THE FLIGHT THAT DISAPPEARED

d. Reginald Le Borg (1961)

Resembling an over extended episode of The Twilight Zone (there's half a compliment there, anyway) this film tells the story of three people who meet on a flight to Washington and realise that they are all on the way to the same meeting, a meeting that might actually lead to the extinction of mankind. For the record, they are a nuclear physicist, a rocket expert and a theoretical mathematician and between them their heads hold the ingredients of a super weapon which would make the H Bomb look like the cordite strip from a Christmas cracker.  

As they fly towards the American capitol, however, something strange happens. Despite the pilot's best efforts, the plane keeps rising and rising, even after all four engines cut out. At a height of ten miles, the plane becomes frozen amongst the clouds, and only our three boffins are left conscious. They make their way onto a mist shrouded patch of land (in the sky!) and are met by a group of ticked off looking people representing the as yet unborn generations of Earth. Yes, it's a trial, an unusual court where people who may never exist are passing judgement on people for something they haven't actually done yet. 

Just as the trio of scientists are being sentenced to an eternity in stasis, an older white haired man emerges through the fog and challenges the verdict. I think he might have been God, he certainly didn't look like a human rights lawyer. In any event, the three are returned to the plane which is allowed to continue its journey.

At first, the three assume it was all a bizarre dream (perhaps not surprising given how many cigarettes, cups of coffee and glasses of scotch they had imbibed on the flight) but, when they get to Washington and informed that they are over 24 hours late, they admit that something truly cosmic has happened and throw all their notes into the nearest waste paper basket, presumably to be immediately picked up by the nearest commie spy masquerading as an airport cleaner.  

THE 27th DAY

d. William Asher (1957) 

'People hate because they fear, and they fear everything they don't understand, which is almost everything'.

Aliens abduct five people from as many different countries: an English woman, an American journalist, a German scientist, a Chinese refugee and a Russian Soldier. Aboard the mother ship, a rather suave alien spokesman tells his guests that his planet is dying and his people would quite like to move to Earth but, as they are a fair and peaceful people, an invasion is out of the question. He goes on to say that as humans seem pretty intent on destroying themselves, anyway, the aliens have come up with a plan. Each of the abductees is given a box that contains three capsules holding enough combined power to kill every human being on Earth quickly, quietly and cleanly without the destructive power of a nuclear war. The alien simply requests that if the people of Earth do decide to blow themselves to bits in the next 27 days, then could they please use the capsules rather than bombs to facilitate human extinction, as this will leave the planet intact so the aliens can move right in. After 27 days, the aliens will have to make other arrangements, perhaps look to rent some temporary accommodation.

Not blowing up the Earth for 27 days seems fairly straightforward, of course, even at the height of the Cold War, but the Aliens immediately up the ante by appearing on every TV in the world and giving out the names of the abductees and some tentative details of the incredible power that they now possess. There's nothing like a bit of extraterrestrial intervention to put mankind into a tail spin, of course, so everything goes mental: there are riots in Cornwall, panic in Los Angeles; the Chinese lady stabs herself, the German professor searches for a solution, the Brit and the Yank fall in love. The Russian soldier, poor devil, is almost tortured to death by his own evil communist overlords, so eager are they to find out the secret to killing every American. Damn Russians*. 

The ending has not one but two very gratifying twists, a more than satisfactory ending to an unusual and intriguing film about how fundamentally rubbish humans are - and how ultimately marvellous they can be once the get past all the bullshit.    

* In contrast, the US government are shown as a benign, supportive group of people who have only humanity's best interests at heart. Yeah, right.   

FROM HELL IT CAME

d. Dan Milner (1957)

The image of some creature lumbering out of the woods or jungle to threaten us is a primal fear, a reminder perhaps of harder, wilder times. No wonder that it features in so much of our folklore and mythology and, of course, our films. Where would our films be without screaming girls clutched in the horrible hands of hideous creatures? Nowhere, that’s where.

From Hell It Came is a South Sea Islands variation on the theme, and here the monster is the Tabanga, a malevolent tree stump. The film makers hedge (no pun intended) their bets a little by giving the grim faced tree multiple origins, and it is variously described as a mythical monster, a murdered Prince returning from the grave to exact revenge and a direct result of nuclear testing, but all of that is just incidental detail. What matters most is that the Tabanga is remarkably angry for flora, and immediately sets out on a murderous rampage.

The killer tree is notable for its permanent scowl, its indiscriminate and versatile approach to violence, and for the fact that it resembles something that they might put in a kids playground at a Halloween themed Wetherspoons. It eventually ends up in ‘the quicksand at the edge of the jungle’, a fairly predictable conclusion given that everyone in the cast says ‘the quicksand at the edge of the jungle’ at least once, just in case we miss the fact that it’s there. One primal fear down, 35,000 to go*.

* An arbitrary number, as thinking of primal fears was starting to freak me out.