Hello folks, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. This week it’s somehow returned to the forties again, so I’m huddled up under a blanket with Eevee while we wait for my housemate to return from his sensibly timed vacation. With the apartment to myself, I’ve been continuing my journey through the enduring anime of the ‘80s, by munching through the extremely watchable Dirty Pair. The show has so far offered precisely the charms I was hoping for: a fun duo bouncing between energetic and lovingly illustrated space adventures, pulling off their secret agent shenanigans with such effortless confidence that they mostly just bicker about crushes and vacation time. A strong genre riff is a laudable thing, and Dirty Pair is an altogether accomplished slice of old-fashioned scifi adventure. That aside, I’ve of course continued my endless film screenings, so let’s talk movies!
First up this week was Masters of the Universe, the ‘87 adaptation of the He-Man series, starring Dolph Lundgren as the Lord of Grayskull himself. In his endless battle against the evil Skeletor (Frank Langella), He-Man finds himself flung to the distant planet of Earth, where he befriends a pair of modern-day California teens. However, Skeletor is hot on his heels, and it is uncertain if even the power of He-Man and two teenagers combined will be enough to break his skeletal grip on the cosmos.
Masters of the Universe is a general mess of a film, featuring low-rent sentai costume work, clearly taking place in California simply to avoid the expense of fantastical scenery, and starring a Dolph Lundgren who sadly hasn’t yet acclimated to American stardom. Lundgren would eventually develop the charisma to compliment his muscles, but hot off his Rocky IV debut, his performance here is stilted and impersonable, which in turn makes his alleged bond with his new allies entirely unbelievable.
Fortunately, Masters of the Universe has exactly one key strength in its favor: Frank Langella, who commits body and soul to the role of the nefarious Skeletor. A silver screen legend who channeled his four-year-old son’s love of Skeletor into his performance, Langella delights with every gesture and bombastic line read, offering a similarly discordantly entrancing performance as Raul Julia’s M. Bison. I personally suggest watching this one while working, and locking in whenever that big skeletal face pops up.
Next up was Hawk the Slayer, another largely forgotten sword and sorcery feature from the genre’s post-DnD heyday. John Terry stars as Hawk, a brave adventurer and wielder of the powerful Mindsword. When his evil brother Voltan kills their father and abducts an abbess, Hawk will have to gather a party of fellow warriors, risking life and limb to restore peace to the land yada yada you get it.
I’m frankly surprised I didn’t discover this one earlier; it’s a major step up quality-wise from the Roger Corman brigade, featuring real actors, some lovingly constructed sets, and a charming, synth-heavy progressive rock score. The plot falls somewhere between your usual “assault the castle, kill the sorcerer” standard and Seven Samurai, banking effectively on the melancholy inherent in old soldiers and allies gathering together for one final, presumably fatal adventure. As for the action, Hawk’s choreography is fine enough, but I was mostly just amused by how the film let its two rapid-fire archer archetypes completely obliterate full rooms of enemies, accidentally paying tribute to the “oh fuck, our fighter broke the game balance” dynamic of tabletop games. Nothing essential, but a perfectly pleasant watch on the whole.
Hungry for some indulgent mid-century horror, I then screened the original Attack of the 50 Foot Woman. Allison Hayes stars as Nancy Archer, a wealthy heiress with a history of public drunkenness and a husband intent on stealing her fortune. When she returns to town raving about an alien she saw in the desert, no one initially believes her. However, tunes swiftly change when she falls into a coma and grows to a towering size, now intent on giving her shitty husband his just reward.
In spite of this film’s enticingly ridiculous title and cult classic status, I am sorry to report that Attack of the 50 Foot Woman was a total bust of a viewing experience. Rather than cataloging the kaiju-like rampage of a towering woman, the vast majority of this film is taken up by the attempts of a regular-sized woman’s shitty husband to gaslight her and steal her fortune. I’d clock the eventual giant woman we witness at thirty feet tall at best, and you can forget that scene of midtown destruction featured on the movie poster – our giant woman basically just walks partway down a street, barely making it off the highway before the feature is over. A master class in advertising over substance, apparently!
Last up for the week was Red River, Howard Hawks’ portrayal of the harrowing first cattle drive along the Chisholm Trail. John Wayne stars as Thomas Dunson, a man who settled in Texas with barely a cow to his name, determined to make his fortune as a cattle rancher. Fourteen years on, he finds himself flush with cows but out of cash, with the Civil War having demolished any demand for cattle in the south. Alongside his adopted son Matt (Montgomery Clift) and old partner Groot (Walter Brennan), he will attempt a daring thousand mile cattle drive north, weathering harsh terrain, bandits, and even mutiny along the way.
With Hawks behind the camera and the Wayne-Clift combo in front, it is not difficult to make a full meal out of Red River. Hawks is perhaps the greatest pure entertainer in film history, and he furnishes Red River with plentiful thrills and riches, from the terror of a raging stampede (this film’s photography of the whole drive in motion is unbelievable) to the tension of shifting loyalties, as Wayne’s hard promises crash against the growing resentment of his men. In the margins of these showdowns and setpieces, a charming, multifaceted cast of seekers take form, with characters like presumed showboat gunman Cherry Valance (John Ireland) revealing unexpected nuances over time.
And beyond the pure excellence of Red River’s screenplay, cast, and cinematography, it’s also a rare treat to see Wayne playing the role of villain. The slow rot of his self-image and the paranoia that has replaced it serve as Red River’s most vivid threat, leaning into a critique of Wayne’s self-made everyman mythos that gives the film a welcome sense of urgency and sorrow. I frankly think the film lets his character off the hook a little too easily, but I suppose that’s Hawks for you; the people love a happy ending, and Hawks is always eager to please.
