b_buddy1 Reviews

A Midsummer Night's Rave (2002)

A silly and shallow but oddly endearing adaptation of a timeless classic

[5/10 · 5 May 2014]

A Midsummer Night's Rave is, at least in theory, based on the classic play A Midsummer Night's Dream by William Shakespeare. It doesn't bear much resemblance to it's namesake but that's entirely besides the point. The plot, you ask? Effectively non-existent. A group of attractive young people get together to take lots of drugs and fall in and out of love with one another. It's not a story so much as a situation. And don't get me started on the idiotic subplot about the drug dealer chasing down the missing jacket. It was so unnecessary.

Andrew Keegan plays our leading man, Xander. It's odd but we actually don't get to know Xander very well despite him being in nearly every scene. All we ever learn about him is that he likes taking drugs and has a thing for a blonde girl named Mia. Keegan is not the best actor but he did what he could with what was obviously a skeleton of a script and his effort is to be applauded. Lauren German did a great job with what she was giving, breathing life into an otherwise inanimate character as Elena, the friend who secretly pines for Xander. I greatly enjoyed the drugged out soliloquy in which she appears to submit a video application to a dating network. Sunny Mabrey is attractive but unremarkable as Mia, the object of Xander's desire. Her character is as two dimensional as Xander's, which is really a shame.

Glen Badyna was fantastic as Puck, the fairy drug dealer who drifts in and out of the story, stealing scene after scene. I had never seen this actor before but man is he funny. It's really a shame he didn't get more screen time as he was easily the most entertaining character in the movie other than Elena. He almost makes the movie worth watching single handedly.

I've never been to a rave and have never taken drugs and this movie didn't exactly make me want to start. Still, I imagine that those who have spent some time in the rave scene might be able to relate to these characters a bit better than I. I'm probably being generous in rating this movie 5 stars but there were things about I quite liked. The soundtrack is somewhat enjoyable if you like techno music. The cinematography is also mesmerizing at times, in particular the scenes of drugged out dancing to house music.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (1990)

Buried deep amidst the senseless action lies a smoldering performance by Elias Koteas

[5/10 · 15 April 2010]

It's trashy. It's farcical. It's downright silly. And yet I found myself enjoying this senseless Kung-Fu fest. The plot? The leader of an evil ninja gang, The Foot Clan, starts recruiting the aimless adolescents of New York City to do his bidding for him. This leader dresses in steel plated body armor and calls himself—rather comically, I thought—Shredder. As the police of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are—like those of most vigilante films—characteristically inept, only 4 anthropomorphic turtles and their mysterious rat sensei, Splinter, have any chance at all of defeating Shredder and his army of 12 year olds. Thankfully, Splinter has trained the turtles from birth in Ninjutsu, the ancient Japanese art of er..something or other. A good bit of punching and kicking is involved, and that is all that really matters for the intents and purposes of this film. If you can get past the contrivance of 4 extremely short physical actors in rubber turtle suits sparring with a walking can opener, you might just enjoy this film. For my part, I didn't much care for the endless fight scenes, the lame dialogue, or the dated special effects. Much more interesting was the performance by the unsung Elias Koteas as the boorish vigilante Casey Jones.

Casey, despite being human, is no less ridiculous a character than the turtles. He wears a hockey mask and carries a cache of sporting equipment he uses as weapons in a golf bag. He patrols the city alone at night, beating up muggers and purse snatchers with cricket paddles. In real life, Casey would last a full 5 minutes on the streets of New York before having his skull perforated a half dozen times by the magnum slugs of the first mugger he accosted. That I was able to take at least one character in this film seriously is a testament to the performance of Koteas. Here is an actor with brutish charm, good looks, and good if not excellent comedic timing. A quick look at his IMDb resume reveals he is still a working actor a full 20 years after the release of this film. It saddens me that this man never really "made it big." I suspect it has something to do with the fact that he started losing his hair in his late 20s and was no longer beautiful enough to audition for George Clooney's roles.

What else is there to be said for this film? The choreography is adequate; not stunning, but not too far below par. The story is somehow less silly than the black and white comic book it was based on; the smallest of triumphs. The turtles are named after renaissance artists; a nice touch, I thought. All in all I can't by any stretch of the imagination recommend this film to others, but there were things about it I found charming.

Warlock (1989)

This supernatural Terminator knockoff is a lot of fun.

[8/10 · 6 February 2010]

James Cameron's 1984 masterpiece The Terminator remains one of the greatest time travel epics ever made. A true Sci-Fi classic, it grossed $78 million at the box office and was an instant favorite of critics and fans alike. Perhaps it was inevitable that its premise—that of a hero and his mortal foe battling across centuries as well as great distances—would be duplicated a score of times by lesser filmmakers in lesser films. Universal Soldier, Highlander, and their myriad dismal sequels come to mind, as does the 1993 Stallone vehicle, Demolition Man. Steve Miner's unsung 1989 B-movie Warlock is very much in this same category of Terminator knockoff. Though underwhelming in its production values, Warlock manages to outshine its contemporaries through fine writing, directing, and above all, acting.

The beauty of Warlock's story lies in its simplicity. This is not a film with delusions of grandeur; it has more in common with Highlander than Braveheart. Hot on the trail of his mortal enemy the Warlock, our hero Redferne dives courageously after his foe into a magical time vortex that transports him from 17th century New England to 1980s Los Angeles. A true fish out of water, it isn't long before Redferne finds himself tasered at the hands of those infamous proponents of brutality, the LAPD. He's arrested but doesn't stay in jail for long. An innocent bystander named Kassandra ("With a K!," as she is quick to remind all) posts bail when she realizes Redferne may be the one person who can free her from the curse the Warlock has placed on her. Kassandra (Lori Singer) is a vain young woman who has been cursed by a spell that leads to rapid aging. At the pace of "a decade twice over a day," Kassandra not only rapidly loses her looks but has less than a week to live unless she can reverse the spell. The only way to do that is by confronting the diabolical Warlock, who rightfully terrifies her. After some convincing, Kassandra eventually agrees to join Redferne. The odd couple set off on a quest to find the Warlock and end his reign of terror before it goes any further. Along the way, the Warlock takes council with Satan himself and begins a quest to undo all of creation by uniting the pages of a spell book called the Grand Grimoire. Fully assembled, the Grand Grimoire spells out the true name of God which, if spoken backwards, will destroy the universe.

The character to whom we are to relate immediately as an audience is the Sara Connor proxy, Kassandra. Initially, she is not a likable leading woman; she is written as dim witted, cowardly, and vapid. But by the film's end, I came to find her if not pleasant then tolerable. The kindest thing I can say of Singer's performance as this boor is that it is adequate; she is never charming but far from odious. It would take an actress of the highest caliber to make me really care about Kassandra and Singer just doesn't have the chops. Still, she does what she can with the role and her effort is commendable.

Like The Terminator, Warlock focuses as much on its antagonist as it does on the heroic duo out to defeat him. The Warlock's true name is never revealed on screen. Instead he is referred to only by title, a nice touch that paints him as less a man than an entity of nameless evil. He is wantonly cruel, blond, and impossibly beautiful. His powers are formidable; superhuman strength, a hypnotic gaze, and flight to name just a few. English actor Julian Sands has a ball as the title character. The scene in which he plays video football with a young boy on a swing set is tremendous; as is the scene in which he admires a victim's pinky ring before rudely hacking the finger off. Misfortune in the form of death and dismemberment inevitably befall all who cross his path, but Warlock takes care not to become an exploitation film. Most violence happens off screen, is merely hinted at, or is handled humorously.

Richard E. Grant's performance as the witch hunter Redferne is nothing short of heroic. His character is loosely molded after Terminator's hero, Sgt. Kyle Reese (Michael Biehn). In the hands of a lesser actor, the valiant Redferne could have been a laughable caricature of superstitious Puritanism but Grant finds the heart of the character. Standing over a "witch compass" constructed of brass and witch's blood, he delivers the greatest line in the film; "Now brute, one last time we play the game out!" I enjoyed every word of Redferne's dialogue, all intoned with Grant's silver tongued faux Scots burr.

On a special effects level, Warlock falls flat on its face. This is a film produced by Roger Corman in the late 80s, which should give you some idea of what to expect. The bursts of magical energy the Warlock fires from his hands are truly garish. And don't get me started on the scene in which the Warlock is supposed to be flying down an interstate highway at 100 mph. Warlock's special effects suffer not only in comparison to recent films, but also in comparison to other films from the same time period such as John Carpenter's Big Trouble in Little China. Still, for all of the low budget special effect snafus, I enjoyed the fight scenes between Redferne and the Warlock immensely. I particularly enjoyed the climactic showdown in which Redferne takes on the Warlock with his bare hands.

All in all, Warlock is easily the best of the many Terminator knockoffs. It is action packed, well paced, and resists the temptation to get bogged down with a sappy romantic subplot. It never reaches beyond its grasp; it is a B-movie out and out and on that humble level it succeeds. It features an attractive cast and is well written, directed, produced, and especially acted.

Mortal Kombat (1995)

Quite possibly the greatest Hollywood adaptation of a video game to date.

[7/10 · 6 February 2010]

The plot of Mortal Kombat is almost completely identical to the plot of every American martial arts movie made in the 90s—a demonic warlord from another dimension is planning to conquer earth and only three heroes have any chance of stopping him by defeating his chosen warriors in a tournament of the elder gods. To be perfectly frank, the plot is almost inconsequential; Mortal Kombat is an action movie out and out, one which doesn't disappoint. The production, soundtrack, and action are all first rate and the special effects rate favorably for that of a film produced in 1995. Mortal Kombat makes only one promise and on this it delivers: viewers expecting a first rate martial arts action extravaganza will be more than satisfied with what it has to offer.

I was extremely impressed with this film's choreography, in particular the stunt work of leading man Robin Shou as the heroic Liu Kang. For reasons unclear to me, Shou's is not a name well known in Hollywood action circles. I assert that the physical performance he delivers in this film rivals any by Hong Kong greats Donnie Yen, Chow Yun Fat, or even Jet Li. Further, if one is to compare his martial arts prowess to that of his American martial arts star contemporaries, he stands on even higher ground. Certainly, the very ability to lift his leg high enough to throw a sidekick outdoes any physical feat ever performed on screen by Steven Seagal, the poor man's Van Damme.

On the subject of Van Damme, one of the main characters from the video game on which this film was based was in turn based on Van Damme's portrayal of martial arts shyster Frank Dux in Bloodsport. The most vainglorious of the heroic trio, Johnny Cage is played with beautiful yuppie poise by Linden Ashby. Ashby is tremendous here, reveling in the shortcomings of his character. Rather than try to recreate Cage in the mold of an iron jawed John Wayne-Clint Eastwood hybrid, he instead has fun with the role, portraying the character as a pampered mountebank. Draped in excessive luggage and designer sunglasses, Ashby is convincing as a Hollywood hipster trying to be taken seriously. He is handsome, posh, and unapologetically narcissistic. I didn't buy the romance between the metrosexual Cage and the icy Sonya Blade for one moment; it felt tacked on and seemed to fly in the face of all common sense. But really, this is the smallest of complaints.

Heroes can only look heroic if they are matched on screen by adequate foils. There are no shortage of villains in this film, several of whom are either enhanced by or comprised solely of special effects animation. On the more human side of villainy, Trevor Goddard delivers a fine performance as the ill mannered henchman Kano. Here is a man who eats with his hands, doesn't think twice about hitting a woman, and makes no effort to disguise the pleasure he takes in human suffering. I enjoyed Goddard's performance as the brutish Kano almost as much as Cary-Hiroykui Togawa's brilliant performance as the evil sorcerer Shang Tsung. Tsung is the right hand man of the evil emperor Shou Kahn and his personal enforcer—the four armed, eight foot tall, half man-half dragon Prince Goro—is the reigning champion of the tournament. A fine martial artist in his own right, Togawa delivers the film's most memorable one liners ad nauseam, including in no particular order of importance "Finish him!" "Flawless victory," and of course, the spellbinding "Your soul...is mine!" Togawa nonchalantly oozes evil, stealing every scene with understated delivery.

Rounding out the supporting cast, the heroes are guided on their quest by earth's sworn protector, the lightning god Rayden (Christopher Lambert). It was a pleasure seeing Lambert on screen again in an action movie. Already known for his stoic deliveries, he seems to take his cues in this film from Togawa, commanding fear and respect without so much as lifting a finger. Credit director Paul W.S. Anderson for understanding that the truly powerful need not posture endlessly.

The women of Mortal Kombat are few and far between and, quite frankly, look a little out of place on screen standing beside real martial artists. Still, they are both very beautiful and deliver adequate, if not outstanding, performances. Bridgette Wilson, perhaps better known today as the wife of tennis great Pete Sampras, portrays the cagey, hardened Special Forces Lieutenant Sonya Blade with an aloof inclemency. Fiercely independent, Blade is on a mission of vengeance, seemingly willing to follow Kano to hell and back to avenge the murder of her partner. As attractive as Wilson is, she is upstaged by the absolutely breathtaking Talisa Soto. Soto is a visual feast as Princess Kitana, the renegade step daughter of the evil emperor Shou Kahn. You get the sense Kitana was thrown in to the script more for the sake of eye candy than necessity to the plot, and to this end, the contrivance works quite well. Mortal Kombat is an extremely good looking movie in more ways than one.

I already mentioned my dissatisfaction with the subplot of hinted romance between Cage and Blade, but let me take this time to mention how displeased I was regarding the general lack of character development of Blade. We at least see the death of Kang's brother on screen, and everywhere Cage goes, his underwhelming reception as a legitimate martial artist reaches hyperbolic proportions. (Note that this movie predates the popularization of the UFC; an action star wouldn't have to travel far these days to convince people he's the real deal.) Blade however is simply not given adequate screen time to explain why she is driven, vengeful, and independent to the point of being obstinate. Still, these are character discrepancies I am willing to forgive in a film as otherwise outstanding as Mortal Kombat.

Ready to Rumble (2000)

What could have been a disposable b-movie is salvaged by the fine acting of an ensemble cast.

[6/10 · 6 February 2010]

Ready to Rumble doesn't much going for it at a glance. Gordie (David Arquette) and Sean (Scott Caan) are two adolescent boys trapped in the bodies of twenty-something sewage workers from Lusk, Oklahoma. The WCW is their passion and as true die hards, they brook no criticism of the sport's veracity. Their nights are spent in a convenience store parking lot jawing with junior high school students. These men are losers through and through. And yet there is something innately likable about these boy-men. They are losers in the sense that Rocky Balboa was a loser; they were born with nothing into the middle of nowhere, blessed with naught but dogged determination and unwavering faith in their cause. Ready to Rumble follows their quest to restore an even bigger loser to his former glory. That loser is disgraced professional wrestler Jimmy "The King" King (a terrific Oliver Platt). King is a hero and role model to the boys from Lusk, who know him only from his television persona. In reality, King is an alcoholic who spends his days in drag, hiding from child support collectors in a secluded trailer. He has been exiled to Palookaville by corrupt wrestling promoter Titus Sinclair (the always unctuous Joe Pantoliano).

The story is told kayfabe; that is to say, the filmmakers would have us believe that wrestling is a real sport and these athletes are really beating one another to a pulp in the ring, night after night. So when a gang of professional wrestlers dive off of the four corners of the ring to deliver a four man head butt to the fallen King, we are expected to cringe at the brutality. When King is unjustly stripped of the title, we are expected to feel outrage on his behalf. And when the boys travel cross country on a search for their hero, we are expected to feel excitement at the prospect of King's triumphant return. Personally, I had no such experiences as a viewer, yet something about this very simple film moved me. At its core, Ready to Rumble is the story of an emperor disrobed. Oliver Platt gives a commendable performance as King, a boorish oaf still capable of feeling shame. This man is no Bret Hart, no Hulk Hogan; no "Stone Cold" Steve Austin he. King fights dirty, drinks heavily, and mistreats his only supporters constantly. That by the end of the film I came to care about this man and his struggle is a true credit to Oliver Platt, one of Hollywood's finest unsung actors. Above all what touched me about Ready to Rumble was the faith of the two boys in their hero. Initially it was so undeserved it occasionally strained credulity; other times it was merely heartbreaking. But if there is one thing a viewer ought to take from Ready to Rumble, it is the testament borne to the transformational power of faith. By the end of the film, King has paid the cost of redemption and becomes the hero the boys always perceived him to be. The film's message is the following: as we believe, so shall it be.

As a self important film snob, I would be remiss if I didn't note duly the many things in Ready to Rumble I could have done without. This film is supposed to be a comedy, but its humor mostly comes in the form of juvenile absurdity. Perhaps Adam Sandler fans will enjoy the adolescent mischief, but I mostly found it a distraction from what could have been a compelling drama in the hands of a more capable director. In a forced subplot, Gordie's overbearing father, the town sheriff, is hell-bent on getting Gordie to follow in his footsteps. He'd rather see his son find a steady career in law enforcement than spend the rest of his life a wrestling obsessed sewage handler. This man is introduced as an antagonist, but bluntly, I found his position very sympathetic. Who could blame him for attempting to intrude on his adult son's adolescent fantasy? Moreover, Rose McGowan plays a conniving, unlikable tart that Gordie becomes quite stricken with. Her character really doesn't have much of a reason for existing other than to cram an attractive actress into a Nitro-girls outfit. And of course the ending is all too pat, as it must be in a film that takes place in the WCW universe.

For all of its faults, I was surprised to find myself enjoying Ready to Rumble. I came to care deeply about its well meaning protagonists and their fallen hero. Arquette, Caan, Pantoliano, and especially Platt all show their stripes as actors, turning what could have been a farce into a compelling journey of redemption. I can't quite give the film a recommendation, but it's underdog story and rock solid performances struck a chord with me.

Ichi the Killer (2001)

Violent pornography

[1/10 · 9 March 2009]

Ichi the Killer is either one of the best or worst films you will ever see. If you are fond of rape, torture, and senseless brutality, then this is the film for you. If you are at all bothered by any of the above, this is not the film for you, as its scenes of graphic violence make the Saw series look like Sesame Street.

Ichi the Killer takes its name from an emotionally unstable young man who is brainwashed into linking sexual desire with homicidal rage. Woe be unto the unfortunate young woman who attempts to seduce the childlike Ichi. Never fully in control of his own mind, Ichi (Nao Omori) is actually the pawn of a man named Jijii who seems hell bent on revenging himself upon the yakuza boss Anjo's gang. The title is something of a misnomer however, as the film's protagonist is actually one of Anjo's lieutenants with a penchant for S&M named Kakihara (Tadanobu Asano). After Ichi eviscerates Anjo, Kakihara investigates the disappearance. He is elated to discover that Anjo was murdered by what appears to be a total sadist; one with no thoughts whatsoever of his victims' pain. The remainder of the film is dedicated to Kakihara's pursuit of the killer he hopes can grant him the joy of extreme suffering and death.

One of the telltale signs of any exploitation film is a complete lack of character development. Within the first few minutes of Ichi the Killer it becomes evident that the women of this film in particular exist as nothing more than objects to be beaten and raped. In one of the more cringe inducing scenes, a prostitute has her nipples sliced off with a razor blade before being stomped to death for the crime of weeping too loudly. I would call the film misogynistic but the men don't make out much better. Ignoring the standard brainwashing, mutilation, and disemboweling that both sexes endure, notable scenes of senseless violence towards men include a man being hung by meat hooks as he has hot tempura poured over his body, Kakihara slicing off his own tongue without anesthetic, and last but never least, a kidnapped man having his arm ripped off by his captor's bare hands just for laughs.

There really isn't much of a story to be found in this gore fest. For 123 minutes we are introduced to characters who have no purpose other then to suffer and die in scenes of pornographic violence. There are no moments of growth or discovery. No insight is given into the psyche of Jijii. We aren't even given a back story for how Ichi fell under his control.

I see myself as the farthest thing from a social conservative, yet I am appalled by the cult following this film enjoys online. Of the 247 reviews currently hosted on IMDb, the overwhelming majority of them are positively glowing. I imagine these are some of the same types who sent Richard Ramirez fan mail in prison.

The Doors (1991)

Val Kilmer's Magnum Opus

[8/10 · 20 May 2008]

The Doors is unapologetically a film about sex, drugs, and rock n' roll. For 140 minutes we follow Doors singer Jim Morrison from his days as an aspiring film student at UCLA to his death in Paris in 1970 at the age of 27. Writer-director Oliver Stone based the story of the film on some 150 transcripts detailing the life and character of Morrison. The result is far from flattering. The Doors paints a picture of a man enamored with death, his own inevitable demise more a relief than an agony.

Death stalks Morrison wherever he goes from a young age. As a child driving through the New Mexico desert with his family, Morrison happens across the site of a car accident littered with dead and dying Navahos. We watch the young Morrison endure what seems to be a sort of possession rite by spirits of the dead natives. Years later he'll profess to be a shaman and from what we see on screen, he might well have believed it to be true. Native American spirits dance alongside Morrison as he sings on stage. Whether these were real or simply an acid fueled hallucination is left deliberately unclear by Stone. Likewise, a death-like character (Richard Rutowski) shadows Morrison throughout his life as a rock singer. Whether this indicates Morrison saw death as a friend, was actually accompanied by Rutowski (who was a real life friend of Morrison), or was simply hallucinating remains ambiguous. What is clear is the following: in his great desire to self destruct, Morrison drank whiskey like water and spent an inordinate amount of time on precarious ledges outside Hotel windows thirty stories up.

Kilmer's performance as Morrison is easily the finest of his career. Raw, nervy, deliberately off putting and confrontational, moments of sobriety are few are far between for this insecure egomaniac. At times I didn't feel as though I was watching a portrayal of a character long deceased so much as a documentary. From threatening suicide repeatedly to quarreling constantly with police at concerts, scenes of bad behavior are many but moments of insight are few and far between. This doesn't seem a shortcoming on behalf of director Stone so much as an accurate depiction of the highly acidic Morrison as he truly was; this was a man who didn't want to be understood. This was an artist on the constant edge of oblivion; an iconoclast who refused to be loved and was close to intolerable whenever possible. Of course it's less than a pleasant experience following the venomous creature that Morrison became for the film's final hour as he goes from alcohol induced nervous breakdown to drug fueled indecent exposure, but I for one appreciate Stone's refusal to Hollywoodize the life and death of Morrison. Kilmer abandons completely all instinct for self preservation on screen, submerging himself in a performance that can only be described as his magnum opus.

Meg Ryan leads the supporting cast as Pamela "Morrison" Courson, Morrison's longtime lover and common-law wife. Ryan seems lost in the role but thankfully spends a minimal amount of time on screen as Morrison was a firm supporter of the "free love" social movement. Indeed, he spends more time with journalist and witchcraft enthusiast Patricia Kennealy (Kathleen Quinlan), an amalgam of several Morrison lovers who suffered through his frequent alcohol and drug induced impotence. A very fine Michael Madsen is wasted as actor Tom Baker, a friend of Morrison's whose relationship is grossly underdeveloped. The only performance among the supporting cast worthy of praise is that of quirky character actor Crispin Glover in a cameo as Andy Warhol, a scene that is absolutely spellbinding.

Some may criticize The Doors for glamorizing a life of excess; this film gives younger viewers the idea that drugs and promiscuous sex are fun, critics may charge. Those who would are missing the point entirely. As are those who would interpret this film as the cautionary tale of a life wasted. Little about the character we view on screen is glamorous. It seems no accident that Morrison died as he did. This was a man obsessed with death; his demise seems more a moment of wish fulfillment than tragedy. My only significant criticism of the film is that the title is certainly a misnomer; this could have easily been titled "The Jim Morrison Story" as there is not a single scene on screen without the eccentric singer while the remaining members of the band are relegated to obscurity. Call it art imitating life once more.

The Kingdom of Ultimate Power (2005)

Not even Bas Rutten can salvage this deplorable farce

[1/10 · 4 May 2008]

Sitting through The Kingdom of Ultimate Power is almost as much fun as being stabbed repeatedly with an HIV infected needle. Both events make a quick and painless death seem more and more appealing the longer they transpire, but of the two, an infectious stabbing at least offers a sharp sting over the slow, brain-atrophying ache that is The Kingdom of Ultimate Power. As a die-hard fan of mixed martial arts legend Bas Rutten, I was thrilled to discover he had finally been given a vehicle to showcase his comedic talents in addition to his incredible athletic abilities. But upon viewing this film, it wasn't long before my joy quickly turned to disappointment and then anger. I felt more and more embarrassed on behalf of Bas as I watched him humiliate himself on screen as Vlad, the retired Ultimate Fighting champion who becomes interested in producing a film about futuristic freedom fighters rebelling against an evil empire in a quest for the holy land. Newcomer Jeremiah Clancy stars as Arch, the hapless screenwriter Vlad conveniently stumbles across on a park bench in the film's opening scene and begins pursuing forcibly. Of course Vlad offers Arch little choice but to enlist as a screenwriter, and the film then centers around their strained working relationship. Arch is supposed to be the likable straight man in stark contrast to the crazy man Vlad, but the very notion that the charisma-impaired milquetoast Arch could ever be accepted as the likable protagonist of this film is absurd. This is a film whose small audience will be comprised solely of mixed martial arts fans drawn in by Rutten. Quite probably, these viewers will be drawn to the intense and charismatic Vlad. Consequently, I found this to be a film of questionable moral integrity; it unwittingly endears us to a character we should shun as a deranged stalker.

Of course The Kingdom of Ultimate Power styles itself a comedy, but has such low regard for its intended audience that it is all but unwatchable. It's not an exaggeration to say I know 5th graders who would be bored to tears by this film's pedestrian attempts at humor which center on absurdity rather than wit. For example, in one scene Vlad makes Arch a "sun smoothie" which is "equal parts protein shake and hot fudge sundae - with carrots!" Oh, what comedy. The plot is simply dull and the odd couple pairing of the tough-as-nails Rutten with the highly effeminate geek Clancy has potential but is a well beaten dead horse just five minutes into the film. This is at its core, a one joke movie, and it isn't long before it overstays its welcome.

I enjoy comedies featuring dignified characters in realistic but oftentimes awkward situations; I prefer to laugh with the characters on screen rather than at them. In this case the film's protagonist is a "normal guy" who is either too stupid or too naive to do anything about his maniacal stalker. I've seen this movie twice before and enjoyed it immeasurably more both times as The King of Comedy and The Cable Guy, fine films writer-director Jeremy Buhler seems to have swallowed whole and now feebly attempts to regurgitate for re-consumption. I find his offering unpalatable. I lost interest in The Kingdom of Ultimate Power within the first five minutes, during which time I began to realize I was watching a movie about a moron stalking an even bigger moron in a moronic film intended for a target audience of morons. This is a very cynical film, made by a director whose contempt for his audience is on display at all times.

At 30 minutes running time, The Kingdom of Ultimate Power overstays its welcome by about 29 and a half minutes. A much more enjoyable short film with the same cast and crew would have been a thirty second clip of Bas Rutten roundhouse kicking Buhler in the face for writing and directing this farce.