THE BEES

d. Alfredo Zacarias (1978)

'You have to listen to what the bees have to say!'

Mankind has a contradictory attitude towards bees, being both completely dependent on them for the continuation of human life on this planet, and simultaneously determined on eradicating them completely in pursuit of short term profit. As a child, I was once chased by a swarm of bees and stung dozens of times, but I don't hold a grudge: they were just doing their job and, after some brief discomfort, I was perfectly fine, although somewhat reluctant to cross them again.

The Bees is a brilliant, chaotic film. Totally cobbled together, it's difficult to know what is more awkward, the mismatched stock footage of plane and helicopter crashes and social panic (at one point, despite the film being set in the modern day and in Mexico and USA, we see obviously British people from the 1960s running past the Ilford Curzon) or  the dodgy optical effects, including what looks like green soot smeared on the negative to represent huge clouds of deadly bees. Every scene is scored with unsuitable music: people die in agony accompanied by ragtime piano, or atonal jazz. There's an appearance from ex-president Gerald Ford (in news footage) and then president Jimmy Carter (played by an impersonator). The elderly John Carradine does a silly German accent, and is taken out by hitmen. 

The Bees in question are imbued with an almost mystical quality, directed from a glowing, throbbing mega-hive in a cave. The upshot is that the bees aren't just killing people because they can, but because they are the vanguard of the defence of mother nature. Sick of having her natural resources used and abused by man, she has sent '20 trillion' bees to teach them a lesson, culminating in a swarm of bees holding the United Nations to ransom. 

Stars John Saxon and Angel Tompkins do the only thing they can and enjoy themselves, providing the film with a basic core of grace, good nature and fun. It's a film that is hilariously funny, not in a sneering way, but just because it is silly and ridiculous and doesn't take itself at all seriously. The funniest thing of all is that Paramount paid the producers a million dollars not to release the film before their own big budget take on the theme, The Swarm. They needn't have bothered, The Swarm was a massive flop, notable only for Michael Caine's immortal words (read aloud, using 'the voice'): 'I never dreamed it would turn out to be the bees. They've always been our friends'. 

THE INGLORIOUS BASTARDS

d. Enzo G. Castellari (1978)

It's 1944 in France, and a group of rascally GIs are on their way to be court martialled. They're a mismatched bunch, consisting of a compulsive thief who's been in the brig so long he has shoulder length hair; a black soldier who kills racists; a racist; a deserter with PTSD, and a pilot who kept stealing planes in order to visit his girlfriend in London. They're not cowards, just criminals, non-conformists and individualists unsuited to the rigours of military life. The black soldier is played by Fred Williamson, so self-possessed that he hasn't even bothered to shave of his 70s moustache and sideboard combo. 

When their convoy is attacked by a Messerschmitt, they effect an escape, heading for neutral Switzerland and freedom. There's a war going on, however, and, being the basically decent blokes they are (and angling for pardons) they can't help but get involved, redeeming their accidental killing of some crack American troops by taking their place on a top secret life or death mission.

In a barely fathomable breach of convention, the racist not only survives the film but gets the girl. That keeps me awake at night. 

Extensive matte and model work and lots of authentic surplus equipment (presumably left behind 35 years before) make the war look much bigger than it is, as does repeating the best explosions and hails of bullets three or four times. Despite all the death, however, it's essentially quite a bloodless and lightweight film, and Williamson mugs and plays it for laughs whenever he can.

The best actor in it is Bo Svenson, a tall, blond Swedish guy who had been a Marine and a Judo champion before briefly becoming a leading man in action films, later settling into a long career in supporting roles. He looks the part, and is perhaps the only one of the cast to take it seriously. 

The film ends with a train crashing into a railway station, a sequence that is so clearly done with models that it resembles the apocalyptic finale of an unbroadcast episode of Thomas the Tank Engine.

Quentin Tarantino would later nick the title, of course, and make an unsatisfactory and irritating film with it. He's a director who frustrates me enormously, as his films should be brilliant by virtue of being fully resourced exploitation movies without the boring bits and shoddy performances. Instead, they are confused, flabby, self-indulgent and, yep, badly acted. In cinematic terms, he's a director who knows the cost of everything and the value of nothing.