Tokyo Drifter (1966) – Review

Planning a career change can be tough, but it’s even tougher when your previous career was that of a yakuza hitman. With Tokyo Drifter, director Seijun Suzuki tackles this fun topic with a vibrant explosion of style and chaos, in a cinematic fever dream that eschews conventional narrative in favour of visual panache.

The plot centres on Tetsuya “Phoenix” Hondo (Tetsuya Watari), a former yakuza hitman trying to leave his violent past behind. This will goes as well as expected. The film opens with a stark, desolate landscape, where Tetsuya is being pursued by rival gang members, and while narrowly escaping we later learn that Tetsuya has decided to retire from his criminal life out of loyalty to his boss, Kurata (Ryuji Kita), who is also trying to go straight. Kurata’s gang is disbanding, hoping to legitimize their operations and leave behind the world of crime.

 

This goes as well as expected.

Needless to say, this decision does not sit well with rival gangs who see this as an opportunity to eliminate Kurata and his men. But as any good noir protagonist knows, escaping the clutches of your former life is easier said than done. The primary antagonist, Otsuka (Eimei Esumi), is the head of a rival gang, and he wants to take over Kurata’s territory and is particularly interested in acquiring Kurata’s office building. When Kurata refuses to sell, Otsuka plots to force him out of the picture. Tetsuya, who remains fiercely loyal to Kurata, becomes a target as well. Along the way, Tetsuya runs into Kenji “Shooting Star” Aizawa (Hideaki Nitani), a former Otsuka man who defected from the group and attempts to lure Tetsuya back into a life of violence.

 

“Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”

Despite his best efforts to live a peaceful life, Tetsuya is pulled back into the underworld. He is constantly pursued by hitmen hired by Otsuka, including Tatsuzo the Viper (Tamio Kawaji), and is forced to fight back in order to survive. Tetsuya’s internal struggle is palpable—he longs to leave his criminal past behind, but circumstances compel him to revert to his deadly skills. The theme song “Tokyo Drifter,” sung by Tetsuya, underscores his status as a man who can never truly settle down, forever drifting through life Tetsuya finds himself relentlessly pursued by rivals and former allies alike, forcing him to drift through a surreal, ever-shifting Tokyo landscape.

 

Nightclubs continue to be very dangerous working environments.

Unfortunately, realizing that Tetsuya’s presence is a liability, Kurata betrays him to save his own skin, agreeing to hand Tetsuya over to Otsuka. Betrayed by his mentor and hunted by both the Otsuka gang and his former allies, Tetsuya becomes a drifter, wandering through Tokyo and the surrounding areas. He is pursued by Otsuka’s men, leading to a series of violent confrontations. Tetsuya’s journey takes him through a variety of strikingly designed settings, from a desolate train station to a modernist nightclub. Each location is infused with a sense of surrealism, reflecting Tetsuya’s disconnection from the world around him.

 

“I hope an old-fashioned Western brawl doesn’t break out in there.”

In the final moments of the film, Tetsuya, now a true drifter, walks away into the distance, having severed his ties to both the yakuza and the people he once called friends, even leaving behind his girlfriend, Club Alulu singer Chiharu (Chieko Matsubara), and with his future uncertain he remains a man without a home, forever drifting, caught between the desire for a peaceful life and the violence that defines him. Tokyo Drifter closes with the haunting image of Tetsuya alone, embodying the film’s central theme of alienation and the impossibility of escaping one’s past. The vibrant, surreal visuals and the recurring theme song reinforce the sense that Tetsuya’s journey is as much a psychological odyssey as it is a physical one.

 

If you are a killer with a moral code, you’re allowed to wear white.

Stray Observations:

• Beating up a former yakuza enforcer to find out if we will fight back is something that will most likely come back to bite you in the ass.
• The film’s wonderful visual style was inspired by the 1971 anime Rupan Sensei, both feature characters in coloured suits, have a very comical and playful undertone, and have a general emphasis on entertainment over logic.
• You have to respect a professional killer who has his own theme song, and that Tetsuya sings it himself is even more impressive.
• The high stylization of the cinematography greatly influenced the work of Quentin Tarantino, and his films Kill Bill and Pulp Fiction owe a lot to Seijun Suzuki.

 

When style is the substance.

The film is a feast for the eyes, with Suzuki using bold, exaggerated colours and striking compositions to create a world that feels both grounded in reality and completely detached from it. Every scene is meticulously crafted, whether it’s a gunfight in a blindingly white snowfield or a nightmarish nightclub showdown bathed in neon lights. The film’s style is so overwhelming that it often feels like the story is secondary to the visuals. This isn’t a complaint, though—Suzuki’s style is the story. This is a unique cinema experience as every frame is meticulously composed, blending pop art sensibilities with traditional Japanese aesthetics. This is not a Tokyo of bustling streets and crowded markets, but a dreamlike cityscape where danger lurks in every corner and the line between friend and foe is blurred.

 

A world where even morally questionable friends can help in the end.

The film’s narrative is intentionally disjointed, reflecting Tetsuya’s fractured psyche as he navigates his treacherous world and Yasunori Kawauchi’s screenplay consists of sparse dialogue, often cryptic, leaving much to interpretation. This can be disorienting for those expecting a straightforward gangster flick, but for those willing to embrace the chaos, it’s a thrilling ride. Suzuki plays with genre conventions, infusing the film with a surreal, almost operatic quality that elevates it above the standard yakuza fare of the time.

 

We get both gun battles and sword fights, what’s not to love?

The characters in Tokyo Drifter are equally stylized, especially Tetsuya, who embodies the cool, detached anti-hero archetype. Dressed in his iconic powder blue suit, Tetsuya drifts through the film with an almost Zen-like calm, even as the world around him descends into chaos. He also really knows how to rock a powder blue suit. Watari’s performance is perfectly in tune with Suzuki’s direction, offering a protagonist who is as much a part of the film’s aesthetic as the set designs and colour schemes.

 

You have to respect a nicely stylized gun battle.

In conclusion, Tokyo Drifter isn’t for everyone. Its fragmented narrative, surreal visuals, and stylized violence can be alienating. But for those who appreciate cinema that challenges conventions and embraces the avant-garde, it’s a masterpiece. Suzuki’s film is a kaleidoscopic journey through the underworld of Tokyo, where honour and betrayal collide in a blaze of colour and sound. It’s a film that stays with you, lingering in the mind long after the credits roll, much like the haunting refrain of Tetsuya’s theme song.

Black Tight Killers (1966) – Review

If you want proof that the 1960s were a weird and wonderful time, look no further than Yasuharu Hasebe’s Black Tight Killers, a dazzling slice of Japanese cinema that oozes with the stylish excesses of that era. This film is a fever dream of pop art visuals, jarring violence and quirky humour, all set against the backdrop of a zany espionage thriller. What more could you want?

The story follows Daisuke Hondo (Akira Kobayashi), a suave war photographer who has just returned to Japan after covering the Vietnam War, and shortly after arriving home he becomes embroiled in a dangerous and mysterious plot after meeting a beautiful flight attendant named Yoriko (Chieko Matsubara). But Yoriko is not just a typical damsel in distress; she is being pursued by a group of ruthless assassins known as the “Black Tight Killers” and this group of go-go dancing femme fatales wield everything from boomerangs to blow darts with deadly precision, and they are willing to kill anyone who gets in their way. Of course, getting killed by this group falls into the category of “There’s worse ways to die.”

 

At least your death will be stylish and amazing.

And what exactly are the Black Tight Killers after? They are in search of a treasure map that Yoriko unknowingly possesses, which is said to lead to a stash of  World War II gold, that her father hid before he died. As Daisuke and Yoriko try to evade the relentless pursuit of the Black Tight Killers, they uncover more layers to the conspiracy. It turns out that these beautiful assassins are not the only ones after the treasure. Okada (Hiroshi Nihon’yanagi) a man who claims to be Yoriko’s uncle. but is actually in league with a local criminal named Sabu (Eiji Gô) – who has his own gang of thugs – is also after the gold, and our two hapless leads are caught in the crossfire of these two forces. The situation becomes more complicated as the lines between friend and foe blur, with betrayals and double-crosses adding to the tension. The film’s rapid-fire plot is simply chock-full of a variety of cartoonishly evil villains, ones that you can’t wait to see dispatched.

 

All that is missing from these guys is a bag of money labelled “loot.”

Stray Observations:

• The Japanese title for this movie is “Ore ni Sawaru to Abunaize” which literally translates to “Touching Me is Dangerous” and is definitely a great title.
• Hondo is held under suspicion of murder but is released because his friend points out to the police “Why would a man commit murder while on a date?” Yeah, can’t argue with that logic.
• Hondo is photographed as he grabs a knife found in the back of a recently murdered man, much as what happened to Cary Grant’s character in Hitchcock’s North by Northwest. Do people not understand it’s a bad idea to grab a hold of a murder weapon?
• As heroes go Hondo’s abilities are a bit suspect, Yoriko is kidnapped four times right from under his nose. If it wasn’t for the Black Tight Killers poor Yoriko would be a goner.
• The Black Tight Killers utilize something called “bubble-gum bullets” and if that is not an actual thing it certainly needs to be because while throwing stars are cool blinding someone with bubble gum is next-level fun.
• One of the Black Tight Killers uses a technique called “Octopus Pot” which is to seize a man’s penis with the walls of their vagina, and I must say, James Bond was lucky to never encounter that tactic.
• Honda has his own gadget supplied by his mentor Momochi, and he provides him with such devices as the “Momochi Vanishing Ball,” a canister of laughing gas, as well as something called the “Momochi Secret Canon.” He’s basically this film’s “Q” from the Bond films.
• The fact that any time our hero teams up with one of the Black Tight Killers, no matter how briefly, it almost always results in them dying in his arms and is something I found a bit distressing.

 

This does make the original title “Touching Me is Dangerous” more appropriate.

The plot, involving a hidden treasure and double-crosses galore, is more an excuse for director Hasebe to indulge in psychedelic visuals and over-the-top action than a coherent narrative and while the film isn’t quite on par with what you’d expect in your average martial arts film of the time – it’s more on par with what you’d find in a Dean Martin Matt Helm spy-comedy – but it’s that delightfully over-the-top quality that makes this film so enjoyable. Expect plenty of high-flying martial arts, absurdly fun gadgets and enough plot twists to make your head spin. Each confrontation with the Black Tight Killers is a set piece filled with ingenuity and flair, showcasing the film’s knack for blending suspense with campy fun.

 

Adam West’s Batman would feel right at home here.

The film’s visual style is its most striking feature as each moment literally bursts with vibrant colours, rapid edits, and creative camera angles. Simply put, Black Tight Killers is a feast for the eyes. Every frame is a kaleidoscope of 60s fashion, kitschy set designs, and inventive action sequences, all brought to life by the brilliant cinematography of Kazuo Nanbu who brings an almost cartoonish energy to his work, lending the film an air of gleeful absurdity. But what truly sets Black Tight Killers apart is its unashamed embrace of pulp sensibilities. It’s a film where logic takes a backseat to style, where the most unexpected objects become weapons, and where the line between reality and comic book fantasy is delightfully blurred.

 

How can you not love a film with this kind of aesthetic?

Akira Kobayashi is perfectly cast as the dashing hero, effortlessly cool in his turtlenecks and trench coats, navigating the chaos with a bemused grin. His chemistry with Chieko Matsubara adds a touch of romance to the otherwise frenetic pace of the movie. The supporting cast, particularly the Black Tight Killers themselves, are a colourful assortment of characters that keep the film entertaining even when the plot threatens to lose focus. Yet, beneath its playful surface, there’s a subversive edge to Black Tight Killers. The film plays with the tropes of the spy genre, turning the traditionally male-dominated narrative on its head by giving the most memorable roles to its female characters. The Black Tight Killers, though villainous, are empowered figures who command attention in every scene they occupy and their final fate is the only painful element in this excellent action flick.

 

“Damn, lost another one.”

In conclusion, Black Tight Killers is a rollicking blast from the past that combines the best elements of spy thrillers, action films, and mod fashion into one unforgettable package and would make a great double bill with the likes of Danger: Diabolik or Modesty Blaise. It’s a film that doesn’t take itself too seriously, and neither should you. Just sit back, relax, and let this psychedelic, action-packed gem transport you to a time when danger came in the form of stylish femme fatales and every moment was a potential explosion of fun.

Xanadu (1980) – Review

With financial musical flops like Doctor Dolittle, Camelot and Hello, Dolly! losing millions at the box office, studios became wary of green-lighting more of the same, but then along came a smash hit called Grease, starring Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta. It must have seemed like a great idea to cast Olivia in another musical, and as soon as possible, and hey, why not throw in Gene Kelly to sweeten the pot? How could it possibly fail?

The story—what little of it exists—follows Sonny (Michael Beck), a disenchanted artist who is stuck painting album covers rather than creating his own original art, but he gets inspired when a literal Greek muse named Kira (Olivia Newton-John) glides out of a mural to help him… open a roller disco. That’s right: a roller disco. Not to save the world. Not fall in love convincingly. Just… open a venue with light-up floors and jam sessions that feel like rejected Solid Gold routines. The plot kicks off when Sonny meets Danny McGuire (Gene Kelly), a clarinet-playing, fedora-wearing ex-nightclub owner with a heart full of nostalgia and a closet full of 1940s charm. Sonny and Danny bond over their love of music, dreams, and the fact that Olivia Newton-John has also mysteriously inspired them both—though Danny met her decades ago and didn’t notice she hadn’t aged a day.

 

Red flag? Nah. She’s just that magical.

With her twinkly-eyed encouragement, Sonny and Danny decide to open a nightclub—a roller-disco-palace-of-dreams hybrid that only makes sense if you’re high on cotton candy and synthesizer solos. It’s called Xanadu, because why name a nightclub after anything other than a Samuel Taylor Coleridge poem that reads like it was written on mushrooms? Sonny falls in love with Kira, because how could he not? She’s beautiful, mysterious, and communicates primarily in soft-focus montages. But uh-oh! Kira reveals she’s not a regular girl; she’s a muse—immortal, divine, and bound by cosmic rules that definitely weren’t explained earlier. Her dad is Zeus (Wilfrid Hyde-White), who’s apparently cool with disco but not with inter-dimensional dating. Can true love overcome such an obstacle? Could these two mine even more musical nostalgia than ever thought possible?

 

“Is it okay if we reference Singin’ in the Rain?”

The club opens! There’s a massive roller disco, people in spandex and feathers, Gene Kelly roller-skates like it’s 1942, and Olivia Newton-John performs a musical number that bends time and fashion. Then Kira vanishes into the cosmic void… or does she?! Because a waitress who looks exactly like her appears at the end, suggesting maybe she gave up Olympus to hang out with Sonny in Los Angeles and help him paint more record covers. Confused? Don’t worry, it’s not supposed to make sense, but that’s part of the charm. This is a film that dared to ask: “What if Greek muses wore roller skates, disco never died, and Gene Kelly agreed to do one more musical purely out of confusion?”

 

As bad as things get, Gene Kelly can still dance.

It should be noted that Kira’s character is based on an actual mythological character, Terpsichore, the Muse of Dance. But comparing Xanadu to Greek mythology is like comparing a glitter roller disco to Mount Olympus — both are magical in their own way, but this film swaps togas for leg warmers and adds a whole lot more synth. It’s less concerned with mythological accuracy and more about creating a dreamy, surreal vibe where art, love, and disco intertwine. So it’s safe to say that the writers of Xanadu took a few creative liberties with Greek mythology—more disco ball than dusty scroll. Here are a few things the film gets wrong (or at least wildly reimagines).

 

1. Romance with a Mortal

In the movie, Kira (Terpsichore) falls in love with Sonny, a mortal, and wants to stay with him.

In mythology:

• The muses are usually aloof and divine, not romantic leads, and they don’t typically leave Mount Helicon or Olympus to hang out with struggling L.A. artists.
• Terpsichore herself is never romantically linked to mortals—she’s busy inspiring dance, not dating skaters or big band leaders.

Mythology mismatch: Muses don’t typically date mortals, and if they do, there are consequences. Think tragic endings, not happily-ever-after nightclubs.

 

2. Roller Disco as Divine Inspiration

The entire plot of Xanadu hinges on building a roller disco as some kind of inspired act of art.

In mythology:

• Artistic inspiration means epics, tragedies, music, and poetry.
• A roller disco wouldn’t quite make the cut for divine praise in ancient Greece.

Mythology mismatch: This might be the only time the gods have facepalmed from Olympus.

 

3. Zeus and Hera as Cosmic Parents

Zeus and Hera appear as disembodied, bickering parents who allow Kira to visit Earth. It plays more like a magical sitcom than Mount Olympus.

In mythology:

• Zeus is often meddling and philandering, but not usually portrayed as a sitcom dad.
• Hera is more wrathful than understanding—especially when it comes to mortals and affairs.
• Mount Olympus has also rarely been depicted as something from the Disney film Tron.

Mythology mismatch: Zeus and Hera wouldn’t be calmly negotiating over a Muse’s curfew. Think lightning bolts or unpleasant transformations.

In Summary, Xanadu doesn’t get Greek mythology wrong so much as it reimagines it as a glitter-fuelled fantasy. It’s more roller boogie than Homeric epic, and that’s kind of the point—mythology as a launching pad for music, love, and neon-tinted escapism.

 

The neon budget must have been through the roof.

The film’s most glaring flaw is not its divergence from Greek mythology, but its indecisive tone. Xanadu wants to be everything: a tribute to the golden age of musicals, a vehicle for contemporary pop music, a fantasy romance, and a celebration of the roller-skating craze. But it never fully commits to any of these genres, resulting in a narrative that feels more like a sequence of disconnected music videos than a cohesive story.  If Xanadu has a soul, it’s in its style — a gaudy, kaleidoscopic fever dream of animated interludes, glowing costumes, and endlessly spinning roller skates. The production design is occasionally interesting in an abstract way, like an art deco theme park filtered through a lava lamp. Not to mention a few fashion crimes along the way.

 

The 80s were certainly something.

Things aren’t much better on the acting side of things. Olivia Newton-John brings a glowing presence to Xanadu — she’s sweet, luminous, and effortlessly likeable. But charisma alone can only go so far. As Kira, a Greek Muse come to Earth, Newton-John’s performance is airy and soft-spoken, but the role lacks depth. Her line delivery is often flat, and the romantic moments feel forced rather than heartfelt. That said, she excels in the musical sequences, where her warmth and stage presence shine. When she sings or dances, she lights up the screen.

 

When she speaks? Less so. 

Michael Beck was perhaps an unusual choice for a romantic lead in a musical fantasy, mostly known for hi starring role in Walter Hill’s The Warriors. His performance here is stiff and wooden, particularly in the more romantic or comedic scenes. Beck struggles to convey the starry-eyed wonder the role demands, and his chemistry with Newton-John is lukewarm at best. He often looks bewildered — which, to be fair, might have been an honest reaction to the film’s increasingly surreal plot. He has leading-man looks, but no magnetism or warmth to carry the film’s romantic arc. He’s a blank canvas — which might be appropriate for a character who needs a Muse — but not an engaging protagonist.

I

 barely buy Sonny as an artist, let alone a love interest.

Gene Kelly, a screen legend in his final film role, brings a touch of old-Hollywood magic — and a palpable sense of professionalism — to Xanadu. His performance is easily the most grounded and genuine in the film. He’s charming and relaxed, and his brief dance numbers are a bittersweet reminder of his once-electrifying screen presence. But even he can’t elevate the weak material much. One gets the sense he agreed to this movie out of curiosity or nostalgia rather than inspiration. In fact, sources claim that Gene Kelly took this one last spin (literally, on roller skates) in Xanadu partly because the filming location was close to his house.

 

Gene Kelly was the quintessential triple threat.

Stray Observations:

• The movie opens with Sonny tearing up one of his sketches and throwing it into the wind, and the pieces find their way to the muses. This is similar to how Mary Poppins got her job notification. Wait a minute, was Mary Poppins a Greek muse?
• The plot of this film borrowed heavily from 1947’s Down to Earth, where Rita Hayworth also played the Greek muse Terpsichore.
• Gene Kelly’s character, Danny McGuire, also appeared in the 1944 film Cover Girl—played by Kelly himself. So, Xanadu is technically a sequel… just with more spandex.
• The film’s nightclub setting was actually the Pan-Pacific Auditorium in Los Angeles—a beautiful Art Deco landmark that had fallen into disrepair. Sadly, it was destroyed by fire in 1989.
• We get a “Battle of the Bands” number between a 1940s big band and an 1980s glam rock band, sadly, we are the losers.
• Michael Beck is not a singer, but instead of having him dubbed by somebody who can sing, his character simply doesn’t sing at all. Which is definitely a choice, just a strange one for a musical.
• While reading the definition of “Muses” in the dictionary, the description ends with “Do you believe me now, Sonny?” This gag is a complete lift from the Jimmy Stewart comedy, Harvey.
• The rotating star stage used in the final musical sequence was originally featured in the carousel sequence of the movie Logan’s Run. 

 

I’m betting no one was screaming “Renew!” after this film came out.

Directed by Robert Greenwald, Xanadu was the cinematic equivalent of licking a glittery glow stick while roller-skating through a lava lamp. It wasn’t just a movie—it was an out-of-body experience where plot, logic, and fashion went out for cigarettes and never came back, and despite the shortcomings in plot and character, Xanadu does boast a few notable strengths. The soundtrack, largely composed by Jeff Lynne of Electric Light Orchestra, is undeniably catchy. Songs like “Magic,” “Suddenly,” and “All Over the World” became hits, even as the film floundered. Visually, the movie is often striking, with bold colours, elaborate costumes, and over-the-top production design that captures the flamboyant spirit of late-70s/early-80s entertainment. The film’s commitment to its aesthetic—however misguided—gives it a surreal charm that’s hard to replicate.

Note: There is an excellent Don Bluth animated sequence, which is one of the best things in the movie, but it exists solely because they couldn’t organically work another song into the plot.

Released in the summer of 1980, Xanadu was intended to be a sparkling cinematic spectacle—a joyous collision of classic Hollywood musicals and modern pop culture. Instead, it was met with critical derision, commercial disappointment – Esquire magazine famously summed up the movie in a single sentence: “In a word, Xana-don’t” – and not to mention the confusion audiences who weren’t sure if they had witnessed a movie, a dream, or a very expensive roller-disco hallucination. But despite flopping hard on release—and earning a reputation bad enough to help inspire the creation of the Golden Raspberry Awards, Xanadu has developed a cult following. It’s a glittery time capsule of a moment when Hollywood tried desperately to ride the disco wave… just as it was crashing. So, that’s something.

 

Who knows when inspiration will strike again?

In conclusion, Xanadu is what happens when you give a fog machine a film budget and tell it to follow its heart. It’s a beautiful disaster—completely incoherent and wildly excessive. Xanadu may not be a good movie, but it’s a memorable one. A neon-lit, roller-skating, synth-pop spectacle of ambition gone awry. A musical misfire so bold in its weirdness, you can’t help but admire the audacity.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (1990-1993) – Review

In 1984, comic book authors Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird took their love of the superhero genre and gave it a nice, humorous spin on things, borrowing liberally from Daredevil and the Uncanny X-Men while adding the comic tradition of utilizing anthropomorphic animals such as Howard the Duck to provide a nice element of parody. The successful run of their comic led to a billion-dollar toy explosion and an incredibly popular cartoon for children, which was certainly not the market the original comic book was aimed at, but with that kind of success, it was only a matter of time before a live-action family-friendly version was attempted.

 

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (1990)

When talking about live-action adaptations of comic book properties this 1990s gem is often overlooked and while it may not be tonally a perfect version of the Eastman and Laird comic, which borrowed heavily from Frank Miller and Jack Kirby, it certainly has the heart and feel of the animated series that was airing at the time. The success of this film comes mostly from the incredible work done by the people at Jim Henson’s Creature Shop and the talented stunt performers who were able to fully realize four amazing ninja turtles. One should also point out that Elias Koteas was a picture-perfect Casey Jones and Judith Hoag more than held her own as April O’Neil.

 

As for the plot, well, it basically re-worked elements of Oliver Twist with the villainous Shredder becoming a modern-day Fagan to a group of disenfranchised youths – hey, look it’s a young Sam Rockwell – and the idea of a secret ninja clan that steals stereos and VCRs while hanging out in a place that looks like a half-assed Pleasure Island from Disney’s Pinocchio, is a bit silly but somehow it all works. Overall, this adaptation of the Eastman and Laird comic is still one of the best, with the 2007 animated version giving it a run for its money and is certainly better than Michael Bay-produced atrocities.

 

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze (1991)

The first film ended with the Shredder being dropped into the back of a garbage truck, with the crusher activated by Casey Jones, but he survive this as we see in this sequel that Shredder climbed out of a mound of garbage at a local junkyard, apparently having survived that crushing, but the raises a big question “Why didn’t the police open the garbage truck to recover the Shredder’s body?” Didn’t Casey Jones or April O’Neill mention any of this to the police? And hey, it turns out that particular junkyard was also the Foot Clan’s fallback rendezvous spot, so the Shredder didn’t even have to catch a bus. How bloody convenient!

 

Seriously, this is what you get when lazy writers want to bring back a vanquished villain instead of coming up with something clever, or how about bringing in any of the other bad guys the Turtles have faced over the years? On the plus side, we do get David Warner as an unscrupulous scientist trying to cover up a toxic waste leak, which leads to the Shredder creating a mutant wolf and snapping turtle – that legal issues prevented it from being Bebop and Rocksteady from the cartoon is a real shame – and while we do get some fun action sequences, and the suits from Jim Henson’s Creature Shop are even more articulate this time out, but the movie itself is a definite step back in the quality of writing with the film’s juvenile dialogue often being quite cringe-worthy and will make it unbearable for many adults and while it was nice to see Ernie Reyes Jr. being allowed to step outside his turtle costume from the previous movie, to become a friend and ally for the Turtles, we are given no explanation as to where Casey Jones vanished to and he is greatly missed.

Overall, the mixture of comedy and martial arts violence didn’t quite hit the proper balance this time out and it made the whole proceedings seem even more cartoony. Also, if your big climax involves Vanilla Ice singing “Ninja Rap” then maybe you should rethink the entire concept and start from scratch.

 

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III (1993)

In this third and final instalment of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Trilogy, we find our heroes travelling back in time, which is not an intrinsically bad idea – the Turtles did venture back to Feudal Japan in the comic book – sadly, for this entry the comedy and unfunny quips are increased by a factor of ten, so any enjoyment of a new setting is undercut bad writing and nonsensical action.

Note: Jim Henson’s Creature Shop was no longer providing the animatronic suits and this resulted in a major step back in quality as the work by All Effects Company was more on par with what you’d find wandering around a theme park and taking pictures with the guests.

Casey Jones does return, having been absent from the previous film due to the criticism that his character was too violent for a kid’s film, but what is truly disappointing is that even though Elias Koteas is back, and given a dual role as 16th Century mercenary, he has pretty much nothing to do in either role. These filmmakers really knew how to ruin a fan’s favourite character. Overall, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III tried something interesting with the addition of time travel but then failed to deliver decent action or anything even remotely funny, as the comedy on display ranged from juvenile to simply unfunny, and this is all quite disappointing when you consider that a movie about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in Feudal Japan should have been badass, instead, what we got was a final chapter that fell faster than fake time sceptre in a well.

Voodoo Island (1957) – Review

If you’re expecting a thrilling, spine-tingling adventure packed with dark magic and voodoo curses, Voodoo Island might leave you as lifeless as the zombies it barely features. This low-budget island horror film promises supernatural terror but mostly delivers sluggish jungle trekking, bad special effects, and a serious lack of, well…voodoo.

For this entry, you will find no adventure, no horror-filled tale of voodoo curses, terrifying zombies, or dark magic. Voodoo Island will politely take your expectations, crumple them up and toss them into a man-eating plant. Because what you actually get is a sluggish jungle expedition in what might be cinema’s most unconvincing supernatural horror. We begin with Phillip Knight (Boris Karloff), a professional debunker of supernatural hoaxes. This man has probably seen it all and now looks like he’s running on nothing but irritation and a mild disdain for the script. He’s been hired by a wealthy hotel tycoon named Howard Carlton (Owen Cunningham), who wants to build a luxury resort on a mysterious South Pacific Island. The problem? The last group of surveyors who went there didn’t return in the best of shape—one of them came back completely catatonic. Now, if you or I had heard that, we might rethink our travel plans, but Carlton just sees dollar signs and sends another group to check things out.

Knight assembles a small team to accompany him to the island, including:

• Sarah Adams (Jean Engstrom) – Knight’s assistant and the only one with an ounce of common sense.
• Barney Finch (Murvyn Vye) – Carlton’s business associate who is concerned about the financial implications of the supposed curse. He exists solely to be greedy and dismissive.
• Claire Winter (Beverly Tyler) – The resort’s designer, who is brought along for no other reason than to look scared and become a victim.
• Doctor Wilding (Herbert Patterson) – He’s brought along to keep an eye on the final “member” of the team, Mitchell.
• Mitchell (Glenn Dixon) – The zombified surveyor of the previous expedition who Knight wants along to find out if his catatonic state is a hoax, voodoo or something else.

 

“Is he suffering from voodooism or boredom?”

After a brief stopover at a weather station, they make their way to a nearby resort owned by Martin Schuler (Elisha Cook Jr), who provides them with the boat they’ll need to reach “Voodoo Island.” It’s captained by Matthew Gunn (Rhodes Reason) whose sole job seems to be hitting on the ladies and attempting to play the hero. He’s very bad at both. It’s made abundantly clear that the locals are 100% NOT ON BOARD with this little excursion – a cursed bag is left on the deck of their boat that indicates that they will all die – but of course, everyone ignores this because they know they’re in a ’50s horror movie.   As soon as they start out on their little trip, things go from “mildly concerning” to “we should have stayed on the boat.” Strange things start happening—some of them hear eerie noises, or feel like they’re being watched, but worst of all… killer plants make an appearance. Yes, this film’s version of terror includes carnivorous vines that look like something your grandma might use as a Halloween decoration on the front lawn. They lunge at people with the speed and agility of a tired sloth, but somehow, they manage to take out a member of the group.

 

“Goodbye, Claire, we barely knew you.”

It’s at this point that Sarah Adams begins to rethink her career choices as the ominous vibes of the island starts get to her, and she begins to wonder if being a cold analytical researcher is going to keep her safe, or if embracing the warm arms of Gunn would be a better alternative, even though he’s a bit of a sexist asshat.  At this point, the group has spent a good chunk of the film’s runtime wandering through the jungle, arguing about whether the island is cursed or not. Knight remains annoyingly skeptical while Finch demands they return to the boat, but Knight warns the group that if they retrace their steps, the local voodoo practitioners will descend on them with lethal intent. Which sounds totally logical. So, instead of turning back, they press forward, practically daring the island to ruin them.

 

And Finch does end up a little ruined.

Eventually, the final penny drops and our plucky adventurers are captured by the locals and it’s here that we learn island’s backstory from the Native Chief (Friedrich von Ledebur), that fifty years ago his people had fled to this island to escape the encroachment of the white man’s world, relying on the island’s killer plants and their own voodoo practices to remove or kill unwanted visitors. Knight promises that if let go, he will ensure that no one ever returns to this island. Unfortunately, Schuyler sees this as reneging on the promises of riches he’d receive if this island had been turned into a resort, and he loudly states his position in front of the Chief. Needless to say, this insanely stupid declaration results in his death – voodoo magic sends him falling off a bridge into the water below – and then our remaining “heroes” are let go. To say this conclusion is a tad anticlimactic would be a vast understatement.

 

“As a resort, I give this place one star.”

Stray Observations:

• This is the film debut of Adam West, he plays the scintillating character of Weather Station #4 Radio Operator. I guess you have to start somewhere.
• It should be noted that Voodoo is associated with the Caribbean, not the South Pacific. But hey, why let facts like proper location and culture get in the way of telling a story?
• The lush, dangerous jungle feels about as real as a theme park attraction, and you wouldn’t be surprised if a guy in a Mickey Mouse suit wandered through the background.
• We don’t arrive at “Voodoo Island” until about the film’s halfway point, which is not ideal when the title of the movie is Voodoo Island.
• Rhodes Reason would later take an expedition to another dangerous island, Farou Island in King Kong vs. Godzilla, where he’d have a little better luck with the ladies.
• The script ever so subtly hints that Claire is a lesbian; she hits on Sarah and rebuffs Gunn’s advances. Sadly, she is killed before Sarah is given a chance to choose between two suitors.
• The voodoo dolls in this movie veer between cute and cuddly Cabbage Patch Dolls to the more needle-friendly version.

 

These would be a hit at the resort gift shop.

One of the film’s biggest flaws is its pacing, considering a movie about voodoo curses, reanimated bodies, and jungle dangers. Voodoo Island moves at a snail’s pace, filled with long, talky stretches that sap any energy the premise might have had. The supposed threats—whether supernatural or natural—are disappointingly tame, and the film never fully embraces the pulpy potential of its setup. Despite the title, there’s almost no actual voodoo—just vague mentions of curses and some brief glimpses of unsettling island inhabitants and those dolls. Then there’s the obviously limited budget, which leaves us with cheap-looking jungle sets and one of the least convincing “man-eating plants” in movie history.

 

Audrey II, this is not.

Karloff, usually a commanding screen presence, seems oddly detached as if he knows the material isn’t up to par and as for the supporting cast, they are largely forgettable, save for a few overacted moments that provide unintentional amusement. That said, Voodoo Island isn’t a total loss. There’s a mild sense of adventure, some amusingly dated dialogue, and a few so-bad-they’re-good moments that could make this worth a watch for die-hard fans of classic B-movie horror. The eerie tropical setting—while not particularly well utilized—at least provides a unique backdrop. 

 

“Set a course for adventure, your mind on a new romance.”

In conclusion, Voodoo Island is neither spooky enough to be a good horror film nor entertaining enough to be a fun adventure. Even Karloff devotees may struggle to stay engaged. The true curse of Voodoo Island isn’t supernatural—it’s the curse of boredom.