Posts Tagged ‘The Jerk’

Oh, but first, come see my post at the Register:  “Not like that!” The spirituality of The Mummy.  The post may be silly, but it’s witness to a miracle:  I was able to figure out how to post videos on a new platform while propitiating the feral kid, who sits behind my back and makes me play the squish game while I write.

But you don’t want to hear about me; you want to hear about .  . . . THE JERK!

To newer readers:  there is this guy.  He’s called “The Jerk.”  Simcha is not The Jerk, and The Jerk is not Simcha.

Every once in a while, The Jerk writes something weird for Simcha — something like, oh, the Beatitudes for Jerks.   And Simcha laughs and laughs and laughs, and gets ready to post it — and then wakes up in the middle of the night saying, “Oh my gosh, I can’t post that.”

On the other hand, it is Simcha’s blog, and  Simcha has already filled out the W-9 form for the Register.  As Mel Gibson said to his bottle of tequila, what’s the worst that could possibly happen?  And so I, Simcha, present . . .

Blessed are the Orthodox, for their Kingdom of God is better than your Kingdom of God.

Blessed are the Eastern Rite catholics, for their priests shall have kick-ass beards.

Blessed are the Angry, for they shall win all internet arguments.

Blessed are the Trads, for they shall fart in Latin.

Blessed are the JOOOOOOOOOOS, for they shall inherit the media.

Blessed are the Buddhists, for they have yet to piss me off today.

Blessed are you when women scorn you, and make intelligent conversation in front of you, and wear pants around you, for yours is your mother’s basement.

Blessed are the the wives of Opus Dei men, for those gals need all the help they can get.

Blessed be the ice maker.

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Hi, I’m the Jerk. I’m allowed to write movie reviews on Simcha’s blog once a week under two conditions. One: I keep the language clean. Two: I have to wear pants when I write. (Somehow, she can tell.)

I know, some of you were made SAD by my review of Yentl. I know some of you thought I should probably go to the beach for a STAYCATION, and maybe cool it for a while. I even know some of you,…thought I should,…stop writing,… altogether,…

And you know, I was gonna ditch the whole thing this week. I wanted to concentrate on my philanthropic work, hand write some letters to loved ones, and organize the agenda for my next Opus Dei meeting. (We’re gonna complain about our wives this time!)

But then I got a letter from one of my fans. Not a letter, really, but a fan fiction comic book he had made of Point Break, this week’s movie. OK, more like a set of obscene drawings of Patrick Swayze and Keanu Reeves with Lori Petty. OK, and maybe he glued pictures of his head on Lori Petty’s body. Hallie, you might want to find a good attorney.

"I do have a JCL and can assist with you annulments! Call Now!"

Point Break

You can pretty much smell 1991 all over this movie.

First you got Swayze in full bore Swayze mode. Scruffy beard, long hair, Zen nonsense. It’s practically a Ben Gazzara cameo away from being Road House. (And yes Dan, there are plenty of boobs in the movie. Now quit it.) But you see, this movie is working on a totally different plane. They give us a complete Swayze – BUT HE’S THE BAD GUY!!!

Mind Blown!

That’s right, he’s the leader of the Ex Presidents, a surfer gang that goes around robbing banks so they can surf year round. Hey, you know, now that I’ve typed that out, it doesn’t seem that stupid after all. Hmm.

But you know what? There’s this totally cool FBI agent who is on to them. Yeah, he’s brash and he plays by his own rules, but he gets the job done. You know who I mean. Agent Pappas as played by Gary Busey.

I got a Cademy Reward at home!

No Gary. That’s your BAFTA award. Jon Voight won that year. Remember?


So Agent Pappas is out to get Swayze when he is joined by rookie agent Johnny Utah, as played by Canoe Reeves.

That's Keanu.


Here is where we hit the Keanu Vortex. How did this guy ever have a career? He makes Tom Cruise look human? He has the charisma of wet cloth. HE HAS BEADY EYES. The existence of Keanu Reeve, Movie Star, is one of those unfathomable mysteries of the universe.

At least Lori Petty’s time as a movie star was short lived. For some reason, she kept getting cast as the spunky, tom boy heroine who fell hard for some meat head like Canoe. Then she made Tank Girl.

I now teach gym.

Good for you.

So Canoe goes undercover and learns the ways of surfing from Swayze. They totally become like soul mates. And they jump out of an airplane. But that was really part of some nefarious plot by Swayze to outsmart Canoe.

Yeah, you can outsmart Canoe by taking him skydiving. You can also outsmart him by telling him if he closes his eyes, he’ll turn invisible.

Here’s the thing: Aside for the terrible, terrible acting, this is a really good movie. It has a classic tension between two leads. Like an old Western. If they weren’t on opposite sides of the law they would be friends.

Check out this clip of the chase scene. The action beats are terrific.

Alright, I totally want that red Lincoln.

If you don’t own Point Break already, you must. Be warned, though, members of the Red Hot Chili Peppers make cameos throughout the picture. There is a lot of bad language, quite a bit of nudity, and even Lori Petty gets nekkid. Yeah.

As some of you may know, my parole officer says this does not count as time off my sentence. Basically, between the halfway home restrictions and the time it takes for me to pan handle enough for a 40, I have a little less free time now that I have to show up for the community service.

What I’m saying is, I’m gonna start writing these in advance. But that means I won’t be able to do a poll for a while. Send your requests to thejerkdoesnotlikeyou@gmail.com

Next week: Sean Connery’s sci-fi adventure Zardoz. It’s directed by John Boorman, who made Excalibur, one of Simcha’s favorite films.

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Hi, I’m The Jerk. You may remember me from such blog posts as; “Surefire Ways to Kill Your Readership,” or “You Can’t Write That, Hallie Lord Might Be Reading!”

Simcha gave me the week off, hoping I would drink myself into a stupor during that time and forget the blog password. Heh, that’s why God made tattoo parlors, friends. Now I’m back, relatively sober, and ready for whatever controversies ensue.

A word about that: Enough with the death threats, Hallie. You don’t scare me. And the voodoo dolls – while stylishly dressed – have no impact on a guy like me. I’m already banned from the Opus Dei swimming pool, I regularly get obscene phone calls from Alice Von Hildebrand, I once fought the entire La Leche League legal team. You’re gonna have to try much, much harder.

La Leche League Attorney, Dame Judy Drench

On to the movie!

The Legend of Billie Jean

I gotta be honest with you folks, this movie is a heck of a lot worse than I remembered it. We’ll dive into that in a second, but the biggest disappointment I had watching this was the music. In my mind, I always heard Pat Benatar’s “Love is a Battlefield” whenever I thought about this movie, or Helen Slater, actually. Umm, let’s not think about why too much, OK?

Great song, right? But that’s NOT the theme song from The Legend of Billie Jean. It’s really “Invincible” by Pat Benatar.

See what I mean? It’s like eating Reese’s Pieces when you thought you were getting M&M’s. Something so close to what you wanted, and yet so sucky at the same time.

"Like wanting to watch 'Tango & Cash' but watching 'Cliffhanger' instead?


The movie concerns the semi-tragic story of Billie Jean, a trailer-dwelling beauty forced into a life of crime because some red necks trashed her younger brother’s scooter. It’s just like The Iliad, except instead of Helen of Troy forcing characters to fight to the death (or fight to the near-maiming in this movie), a Honda scooter is the vehicle of fate. Or, maybe not. I dunno. Look, I thought I had a joke for this.

Billie Jean, played by Helen Slater, and her brother– umm, Bing?– played by Christian Slater (no relation) just want $608 to repair the scooter after said local roughs scratch it and pull the mirror off. Seriously, how much damage can you do to a scooter? And for $608 in 1980’s dollars, couldn’t you buy a whole Ford Fiesta?

Billie Jean goes to the father of one of the youths to get the money back. She totally does not see it coming that this guy is a creep, despite the fact he looks like this:

Hey good lookin'.

The Gulf oil spill was absorbed by his hair.

Predictably, Senor Fancy ‘Stache tries to take advantage of Billie Jean. While our heroine keeps her honor, her numbnuts brother accidentally shoots the villain.

It's like Gilligan joined the NRA.

Billie Jean, her brother–umm, Bick?– and the gang from the trailer park hightail it to the other side of town in a not at all conspicuous station wagon with waves painted on it. These kids never leave the greater Corpus Christi, TX  area, and yet the cops are stumped. If this movie drums nothing else into the viewer’s head, at least it get across the very clear message that Texas law enforcement leaves much to be desired.

Oh, fun fact, one of Billie Jean’s accomplices is played by Yeardley Smith, the voice of Lisa Simpson.

No, no, Bart's the Scientologist.

Fun’s over, back to the movie. Billie Jean and the gang have only one ally in the grown up world, a police detective played by Peter Coyote. This is a guy I really want to like as an actor, but he spent his career making crap like this. Look, I may be the one guy to have seen Exposure, and like I said, I really dig Coyote as an actor, but he is the poster child for wasted talent.

Didn't you like me in "Patch Adams"?


Now that our youths are officially misunderstood fugitives, they decide to break into a house they think is empty. Instead, it is home to Lloyd, the one Jew in Corpus Christi.

Mazel Tov!

Lloyd does the kids a mitzvah and tapes Billie Jean’s statement of righteousness so they can get the word out about how she is just a crazy, mixed up kid on the side of justice. Billie Jean gets ready for the big show by donning a wet suit, parachute pants, and cutting her hair in that way girls do after a bad break up.

She's now going to spend the next three weeks listening to The Cowboy Junkies and smoking Capris.

This tape inspires girls all over Nueces County to cut their hair as a sign of solidarity. I guess this is where the “legend” part of the The Legend of Billie Jean comes from. All the kids spout her slogan, “Fair’s Fair!” too. Maybe the film makers were hoping for one of those big cultural moments being sparked by this movie, with a mass youth movement inspired by Billie Jean and her, uh, legend. You know, like when the kids went crazy with Fanny and Alexander fever.

I want a scooter, but it will make me sad.

It’s at this point some sub plot involving Lloyd’s district attorney father, portrayed by Dean Stockwell, comes into play. Like much of Stockwell’s acting career, it never really goes anywhere, so don’t worry about it.


Sorry, Dean. You were great in Quantum Leap.

There is a grand finale on the beach, Christian Slater gets shot, Helen Slater is burned in effigy, and our oily villain gets his comeuppance.

The movie ends with Billie Jean and her brother — Binx! — safely in that magical land of happiness, Vermont. This is where the movie makers really show their ignorance. Vermont is not an escape from a sleazy trailer park. The entire state IS a sleazy trailer park. With snow.

Next week, assuming Simcha hasn’t changed the password, I will review one of three choices. Again, I will leave the poll open through Friday.  Your choices are: Last week’s runner up, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, director George Roy Hill’s ‘classic’ that is just not as good as you think it is; Yentl, director/star Barbara Streisand’s feminist musical that is as bad as you think it is; or The Man Without a Face, director/star/lunatic Mel Gibson’s ode to deformation and learning that is just God awful.

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Come on over and see me at Faith and Family today (for real this time!), where I have a short interview with a young, gay, faithful Catholic man.  You’ll like him — he’s so clean and articulate!  But something tells me Joe Biden would not be impressed.

And hello and welcome to Faith and Family and Creative Minority Report readers.  Stick around for tomorrow, when we will  . . . okay, I have no idea what we will be doing tomorrow.  The Jerk, who usually reviews movies on Thursdays, is taking a few days off.  I think he found himself singing along with Pat Benetar during the big climax in The Legend of Billy Jean,

and is going on a retreat to reassess his life goals.   But he will be back!

Vaya con Dios, The Jerk.

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So far this week, I’ve talked about cute shoes, not-cute shoes, Burl Ives, Raffi, and photogenic lichen.  Time for a palate cleanser, don’t you think?  And so, with some well-justified trepidation, we welcome back . . .

Hi, I’m The Jerk. It’s awful nice of Simcha to let me back here after last week. Things got a little carried away. I said some things that maybe I shouldn’t have. You all said some things maybe you shouldn’t have. The way some of you got worked up, you’d think I wrote about modesty.

Since the resounding success of Tango & Cash, I found it really hard to get into this week’s feature, The Lost Boys. Witnessing Stallone and Russell awesome it up for an hour and 30 minutes  (OK, I kind of lost track of time after Russell first used his boot gun), my life has been changed. No movie will ever be that good.

Not even "Over The Top"?

But you folks asked for a review of The Lost Boys, and that’s what I promised. Though not in so many words. It was more of an implied promise that would be impossible for you to prove in court. I’M NOT ON TRIAL HERE!

The Lost Boys

There are really two movies called The Lost Boys. There’s the funny and scary horror movie with a hip soundtrack and clever dialogue that everyone remembers from the not-at-all dated period of 1987.  And then there is the movie that actually plays when you put the DVD in the machine. The one with this guy:

Make mine extra greasy!

For those of you in the know, by whom I mean older men with a horn fetish, this is Timmy Cappello, a successful body builder, musician, and the lynch pin for the whole damn movie.  Michael (played by Jason Patric, who makes Keanu Reeves look like a bit of a better actor than Keanu Reeves– maybe that guy who played Horshack) and Sam (played by Corey Haim, who makes Horshack look like Jason Patric) go to Timmy’s concert. Watch this clip. It’s all there. Michael’s first glimpse of Starr (Jamie Gertz in full Jamie Gertz mode); Sam’s attempts to keep his brother’s eyes on the greasy muscle man, and away from the possibility of a heterosexual entanglement; the extras “head banging” to the “rocking” saxophone from “Timmy.” It’s all there.

This scene should be your second clue that the movie you remember fondly is, well, crap. Big time. First clue? It was produced by Richard Donner. This is the  guy who got his start directing Gilligan’s Island and never really progressed. How seriously can you take a guy whose life as an artist began with him shouting “No, no, no, the Skipper needs to hit Gilligan harder!” Or, “More coconuts!”

Next up? How about this guy:

This shirt makes Elton John cringe.

The outrageous clothes, the shop-till-you-drop Valley Girl attitude, even the way the other characters in the movie react to him all pretty much spell out that this is a kid who really liked the volleyball scene in Top Gun.

This is the poster on his closet door.

More proof? How about the bath scene. Only girls get bath scenes. Period. Think Janet Leigh. Now stop thinking Janet Leigh, you pervs.

So, is Corey Haim’s character an early pioneer for gay pride?

Or is it just that an earlier draft of the script had the Sam character as Michael’s little sister? At some point in development, probably between the fifth and sixth eight balls, the producers decided they would go with Corey Haim–but no one bothered to do a re-write.  Haim, being a pro, ran with the part.


Or, it was directed by Joel Schumacher.

I directed him too!! Yum!!

Could Schumacher be the sole reason for this movie’s oddness?

Sadly, no. Look at the casting: Keifer Sutherland as a vampire?

He looks like one of those illegal roofers.

I had no idea vampires could be so … potato faced. You know why I had no idea? Because they can’t. Vampires are evil and menacing. Pasty doesn’t cut it.

Then there are the Lost Boys themselves. They dress like escapees from a Duran Duran video. I would say they are all nondescript, but they had to cast Alex Winters. Yeah, from Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure. We all like him, right?

He was either Bill, or Ted.

Hey, you know, there something about his face …


Then we have two real actors, Diane Wiest and Edward Hermann, slumming it. Wiest won an Oscar shortly before this for Hannah And Her Sisters. While that is a revolting movie, she is really good in it.

Hermann is best known for playing Goldie Hawn’s husband in Overboard, a romantic comedy featuring Kurt Russell. That was just a revolting movie.

Finally, we have Barnard Hughes playing Grandpa. His character is a curmudgeonly taxidermist who knows more about the vampires than he lets on. Hughes, of course, played the curmudgeonly taxidermist named Grandpa in East of Eden with James Dean. He was nominated for a Golden Globe for his portrayal of Grandpa, a curmudgeonly taxidermist, in David Lean’s Lawrence of Arabia. And he got his start in theater playing Grandpa in Olivier’s Hamlet, Prince of Danish Curmudgeonly Taxidermists.

Is this a badger I see before me?

Oh, I almost forgot the Frog Brothers. Corey Feldman and Jamison Newlander are honestly the best part of the whole movie. The comic book store clerks / vampire killers provide the only humor in the movie.

Newlander and Feldman fight for the phone. It might be their agent calling. It never is.

I know Feldman made a sequel, but Newlander wasn’t in it, so I refuse to watch.

Well, the librarians are getting that look like they might call the FBI on me, again, so I better wrap this up. Stupid Patriot Act.

Angela Lansbury sends her regards, jerk!

For a parental warning, I don’t know what to tell you. This is an R-rated horror comedy. This movie isn’t really that funny. Not particularly scary. There is some gore. Gertz and Patric do have a “love” scene, but it is about as convincing as Tom Cruise in Interview with a Vampire.

Good thing we're straight.

Next week’s movie will be decided by another poll. I am going to leave the poll up through Friday at midnight. Here are your choices: Last week’s runner-up, The Legend of Billie Jean, Helen Slater’s magnum opus; The Omega Man, Charlton Heston’s quick pay-day; or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, a movie that is fine example of our collective guilt.

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Greatest Movie Ever

(Note:  The Jerk swears a lot.  What do you want?  He’s The Jerk.  Tomorrow, the blog will be heartwarming again.  –Simcha)


I’ve been bumped!

Here’s the deal: Tuesdays seem to be prime blog viewing days (what do you ladies do with your weeks?) and every time I post a movie review, Simcha loses at least one subscriber. OK, four.

Now, I could get all angried up about getting moved, but I get paid the same amount no matter when this thing runs. Also, now I don’t have to be that careful with what I write anymore. (That was a warning for the squeamish.)

Onto the movie!

Tango & Cash

Embrace the Awesome!

Holy shit! This is the most awesome fucking movie ever made! Fuck you, Orson Welles, Citizen Kane is nowhere near as awesome as one half of a drop of sweat coming off of Stallone during any one of his sweaty, sweaty scenes. I don’t really know what that means.

OK, OK, OK, OK, so Tango (Sylvester Stallone) is this rich guy, who is one of L.A.’s best narcotics cops, and Cash (Kurt Russell) is this slobby, scruffy guy who is also one of L.A.’s best narcotics cops, AND, get this, they don’t like each other! Did you even see that coming? I know, right, totally unexpected, then, the super bad guy no one knows about (Jack Palance playing some guy whose name I forget) totally frames Tango AND Cash for a murder … THAT THEY DIDN’T EVEN DO! Oh, man, then, they have to escape from prison, and their captain can only give them 24 hours to clear their names, and Cash meets Tango’s little sister (Terri Hatcher) who is like some stripper, except she keeps her clothes on and plays the drums during her dance,  and Cash really likes her, and Tango totally doesn’t like that, but she’s like “I can do what I want,” and Cash is totally into her, and then they track down all the guys who frame them, and it leads to Jack Palance, who is always in his super secret lair kissing rats, and they go to the guy who made boot guns for Cash and he gives them this totally sweet truck with like machine guns on it, but he’s like “I need that back,” and Tango and Cash are like “We won’t scratch it,“ and they use it to find the super secret lair and the truck gets SQUISHED by some really big things, and then Jack Palance pushes the self destruct button, right? I know. And Tango and Cash chase him to his hall of mirrors (just like Enter The Dragon!) and Jack Palance has Tango’s sister, but Tango and Cash totally save her and kill Jack Palance just in time to run out of the super secret lair before it EXPLODES!!! OK, OK, OK, OK, whew.

Totally. Fucking. Awesome.

As you may have guessed, I kind of like this movie, a lot. Perhaps this hampers my ability to provide a critique, but I don’t care.

Let’s start with Sylvester Stallone.


Most people know he got his start with Rocky, but they forget he wrote that movie. Yeah, I know, this guy is not actually illiterate. Watch Rocky again, it is a bittersweet drama with a ton of gritty heart. That guy went on the be Tango.

Who says cocaine and steroids are bad for you?

Kurt Russell is the ultimate utility infielder of movies. This guy started acting as a kid, doing real solid work his whole life, but never being in the truly big pictures. Got a modest budget action movie but  you can’t afford Harrison Ford, or Tom Cruise, or John Saxon? You go get Kurt Russell. Not only will he be a decent leading man, he’ll do whatever carpentry you need done on the set.

Did I forget to mention he's in the union?

The other thing you have to kind of like about Kurt Russell is he is one of the few actors out there you seems like a semi-decent human. He’s been with Goldie Hawn forever. They have bunch of kids and they seem like nice people. So what if she’s transgendered.

I shtupped Angela Lansbury.

Jack Palance is a genuine Icon. Shane, and, um, Shane. Crap. I thought this guy made better movies than he really did. I know he won an Oscar for City Slickers, but that was one of those, “We feel bad you’re gonna die soon,” awards.

I also starred as Mr. Kitch in The Secrets of a Sensuous Nurse.

In any normal movie, the scene where Jack Palance starts kissing the two rats he has named Tango and Cash would be the biggest WTF moment of the whole enterprise. Not this movie. Not by a long shot.

OK, so the director, Andrey Konchalovski, co-wrote Andrei Rublev. That’s something. Right? It shows this is a man with real, lasting talent, despite whatever duds he might has made in a long career. Right?

Oh. I see.

Well, then there’s Terri Hatcher. Who am I kidding. This is a woman who can’t hold her own acting in a scene with Sylvester Stallone. She probably took her clothes off for money in real life, yet look how unconvincing she is as a drumming stripper.

Probably because in this movie, she kept her dignity, as it were, by keeping her top on. That must have been a new experience for Terri. Speaking of dignity, check out Russell in drag.

Wait a damn minute! Has anyone ever seen Kurt and Goldie in the same place at the same time?

The guy’s a pro, like I said. The script calls for him to get up in drag, he’s gonna do it, and be at least twice as convincing as Terri Hatcher!

OK, so the parental warning: If you like this kind of thing, maybe you should not ever become a parent. We’ve got bad language, lotsa violence, some random boobs, and Sly and Kurt doing a prison shower scene.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how you get Andrew Sullivan to read your blog.

So, that’s Tango & Cash. No one will be able to top it. Ever. Unless they make a sequel. I’m gonna start on my spec screenplay tonight. Tango & Cash & The Jerk!

Next week, if Simcha hasn’t broken my fingers, I will review one of the following movies: Man With the Golden Gun, which features Christopher Lee’s third nipple; The Lost Boys, a fabulous vampire movie featuring nothing gay whatsoever; or The Legend of Billie Jean, featuring Helen Slater’s, um, shall we say, assets.

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Enter, The Dragon?

Well, looks like I haven’t been fired yet, so here goes with this week’s thrilling adventure.

Before I start, I’d like to thank all of the readers who sent in suggestions for future reviews, both of you. Once I can track down those titles, Troll 2 and The Island of Dr. Moreau, for $5 or less, I will put them on the list. (Hey Paula, your package is being delivered.)

I also want to thank Simcha for giving me the space for this nonsense. Yes, I do have incriminating pictures of her, for those of you wondering why she puts up with me. (I told her it was for my sketching class!)

Enter The Dragon

Tragedy surrounds this 1973 release. No, I’m not talking about Bruce Lee’s untimely death shortly after it was completed. This was to be his first big American picture, one that would catapult him to super-stardom. He was gonna be bigger than those guys from Shanana!


Nor I am talking about John Saxon’s career, which also died shortly after this movie was completed. He went from being the next Armand Assante to being the next, um, John Saxon. In no time, he was playing a vampire on Starsky and Hutch. Though, he did get to be in a two-part Hardcastle and McCormick.

To Agnes, sorry about the herpes! Ron Mexico

Yes, I’m talking about Yang Sze’s perfomance as Bolo, the big, muscular villain who menaces our heros on Mr. Han’s island. This could have been one of the great villains of all time, or at least of Bruce Lee movies featuring John Saxon and Jim Kelly. But the film makers blew it. Does Jim Kelly looked scared to you?

Hmm, this might be the wrong guy.

Bolo should have been a heck of a lot scarier. Bolo should be right up there with Jaws, from the crappy Roger Moore Era of James Bond movies, or Bobba Fett. You know, cool bad asses who can kill indiscriminately. Instead, he’s just the big oaf John Saxon kills. Oh, yeah, um, spoiler. The film makers didn‘t give Bolo the humanity he needed to take his place along side the greatest galoots of all time. Check out this clip, from the master. (Seriously, go here. Now. Watch it all. It’s like 3 minutes. It’s not going to ruin your day. What, you don’t have time? You need to get something done? Maybe the baby needs a change? You’re here. Until you change out of your pajamas, you have the time.)

I would like to propose we create a personality profile for Bolo.


Mimosas, petting puppies, Kathryn Jean Lopez.

Mean people, Mondays, Hardcastle and McCormick.

Onto the plot!

So the movie comes with a pretty interesting title. I have never been able to figure out what it means. Are we, the audience being asked to enter the dragon? Does it mean the dragon is entering the movie? Is it a stage direction that accidentally got typed on the front of the script?

The movie centers on the martial arts tournament hosted by the evil Mr. Han. You can tell he’s evil just by his Nixon hairdo.

John Dean was always a punk.

He invites martial artists from all over the world to the event, which is held on his island of mystery.  They make opium there, and keep women as slaves for the sex trade, oh, and they run a nice bed and breakfast. The Sunday Brunch is lovely.

Bolo warms each and every bed.

This movie has not one, but three martial arts action heros. Kind of like The Magnificent Seven, but minus four dudes, and pretty much anything good from that movie, actually.

Bruce Lee, is, well, Bruce Lee. The Dragon! He’s recruited by the British government to go to the tournament and help bring down Mr. Han, as explained in this scene that makes little sense. The exposition starts at 54 seconds, but feel free to drink in some of that Lalo Schifrin score first.

Of course, our Bruce has more personal reasons to go to the island. His sister, (I think, though the relationship is not that clear from the script,) was once chased and almost raped by one of Han’s goons. A big bearded guy with an Irish name, who is also some martial arts expert, cornered her in a warehouse. She defends her honor by killing herself.  (Don’t worry, Bruce Lee gets his revenge at the end of the movie. Oh, damn. That was a spoiler too. Sorry.)

I hate to say it, but Bruce’s sister, or whatever, could have totally avoided this whole scenario if she listened to a concerned friend.

If you go out dressed like that you are going to get raped by a pack of Ninjas!

Then there is Saxon as Roper, a professional gambler, down on his luck. As you can see from this fight scene, Saxon has less business being in a martial arts movie than I have writing about one.

I would like to draw your attention to Roper’s outfit. The too tight turtleneck, the pressed slacks, the comb over; this is pretty much how I dressed through to the fourth grade. The only thing missing are the husky sizes.

Our third hero is Jim Kelly as the black guy. Williams, I think. He knows Roper from ‘Nam! He bangs prostitutes five at a time! He has the world’s greatest ‘fro! Aww, who cares. Just check out his flashback sequence and see if you can spot Morgan Freeman.

Kelly, like Lee, actually knows actual martial arts and went on to make more actual martial arts movies. Saxon went on to not getting parts on Murder She Wrote.

I schtupped Angela Lansbury!

Once they get on the island, all sorts of crazy stuff happens. I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you, but Bruce Lee kills Han in the hall of mirrors.

Crap! I did it again. I’m never gonna get the hang of this. I might as well quit now.

Oh, so a warning for the prudes in the reading audience, there is some mild violence, gore, some not so mild violence, some topless ladiness, and Saxon does take his shirt off.

I’m gonna give you all the choice for the next movie. I will either review Tango and Cash, a movie starring Kurt Stallone and Sylvester Russell. That’s right, they made a movie together and the world did not explode in an orgasm of awesome. Or, Thunderball, the most inexplicable James Bond movie not starring Roger Moore.

In the meantime, you can send your suggestions to thejerkdoesnotlikeyou@gmail.com, or catch me at the Twitter @thejerknotlikeu.

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