Bondage Bonus

These de Mullotto pieces are the last of those received from the very generous Bridgitte, a bonus of bondage art from a fine young lady who has enjoyed a close relationship with the artist.

 

As noted in prior posts, these represent some of the earliest attempts of any artist to compose work of this nature in a CG environment. Today, the discipline has been well refined. I post them here for the sake of completion.

 

The artist worked as an illustrator in a variety of fields simultaneously, but signed these works "de Mullotto" to protect his professional identity.

Mark of the Master, his epic of Satanic bondage and submission, was recently reprinted by 'Wet Angel', a division of Creation Books. The quality of the 'Stanton Archives' original (1980) is definitely superior in terms of printing and reproduction, but the reprint is worth having if you don't have the Stanton version.

In the new printing, the text font has has been changed, and a double-page spread that appeared in the center of the 'Stanton Archives' version now appears across the inside of the glossy front and back covers.    

 

Wherever you are today, Mr. de Mullotto, I wish you well.

Perversion For Hungry Eyes

 

David Lindsay wrote about the world "being rotten with illusion from top to bottom... the most sacred and holy things ought not to be taken for granted, for if examined attentively, they will be found as hollow and empty as the rest... Behind this sham world lies the real, tremendous and awful Muspelworld, which knows neither will, nor Unity, nor Individuals; that is to say, an inconceivable world." 

I have a lot of time for Colin Wilson, the author of a mind-boggling variety of books (fiction and non-fiction). When I stumbled upon his earnest digest examining the obscure works of David Lindsay, I was compelled to read. Clearly, so was Wilson. In fact, Wilson's read a great deal more Lindsay than I have, my association with him limited to the truly troubling A Voyage to Arcturus and The Haunted Woman. Read several years ago, both left an imprint on me like a long journey one can't forget, a journey insisting on a replay. 

Wilson's approach to Lindsay comes from a certainty that the man was compromised, stifled by a blight he calls the reader over one's shoulder (or: self-consciousness of imminent publication). Writes Wilson: "It's a pity he was not more like Lawrence, who was too sure of himself to suffer from self-consciousness, and is subsequently never afraid to write as he would talk." 

Wilson's slim but meaty volume is a midnight love letter to the writer in which he praises, cajoles, and attempts to school him. Wilson conveys a strong sense of disappointment in Linsday, and attacks the writer's use of cliches, but concedes Lindsay "was not really a solitary visionary... He was expressing the spirit of the age..."

He includes the book with a wonderful quote from Einstein:

"One of the strongest motives that leads men to art and science is to escape from everyday life, with its painful crudity and hopeless dreariness, from the fetters of one's own ever-shifting desires."

This is such a wonderful book by about a strange, brilliant bookman. 

 

This is a Road Book in the Twain style. Road Movies are more common these days, but Road Books endure, nonetheless. I wanted this one to endure longer, so I read it slowly over a two week period, savoring its magical essence. 

It is magic. Magic like Jonathan Carroll's The Land of Laughs is magic. As you read, you smile a lot. You nod. You smile. You take the book away from your eyes and hold it at arm's length to appreciate it. I did a lot of arm extending while adventuring with King of Citizen Bands.

It's about freaks on an odyssey, freaks searching for a better place to be, a place where they're free to be themselves. It's a bible for non-violent Outsiders.

There is The Dwarf who isn't, the King (of Citizen Bands), and a blind girl who trusts them both. Nathan Tyree, who writes in a clear and colorful style, loves these people. I think he'd defend them with his life. His affection for them is, in fact, what makes the journey so involving and inviting. It's not like the drama itself is bloody and lives are threatened and lost at every turn. No, the drama emerges from the Outsider status of the characters, their struggle for acceptance, their letting go of old ways.

I'm struggling to think of another book I've loved this much recently (present company excluded). 

 

I read Mr. Overby is Falling before King of Citizen Bands. It's taken me this long to write about it. 

Still, six months later, I can't shake its surprises.  

It's head-scratchingly difficult to discuss without giving up its secret. There is a big secret and it's a well earned one. 

'Mr. Overby', our protagonist, is not unlike the lead character in Bobcat Goldthwaite's God Bless America, a film I can recommend with reservations; I'll discuss the reservations at some other time, but they involve keeping your expectations at a realistic level.  Overby, unlike that film's protagonist, doesn't feel like he can do much about what's wrong with the world. He doesn't have the balls or the organizational abilities. Until they're handed to him.

That's enough about the plot. Mr. Overby is Falling, true to its title,  is a decent into hell, a hell most people will not be comfortable with. Some reviews (there are a few) have attacked the book for its content while circling its actual value as literature. 

In other works of this nature, the solution to the problem becomes a bigger problem. This doesn't go in that direction. It goes in a much darker one.

Using just seventy-nine pages to do it, Nathan Tyree rightly fucks you up with this book. God bless the guy.

If I could liken the tone of this book to that of any other writer's work, I'd have to say Bentley Little. Little's ultra-paranoid thrillers such as The Association, The Store, The Policy, and The Ignored share atoms with Mr. Overby. 

I envy anybody their first read.  

    

 

By nature, we're hopeful. That hope gets stomped out of us by experience, but, like a ball attached to an elastic band, we bounce back with hope renewed. Then, more stomping. 

Jonathan Carroll's After Silence is a fuckin' amazing book about a man whose hope gets stomped on and shattered. And, with that hope lying in pieces, he finds another reservoir. Yes, fueled by dreams and love (the two entwined in a fragile dance), he inches forward, propelled towards another stomping.

Sounds dark? It is.

Easily one of the most inventive living writers, Carroll never disappoints me. In a weird way, he's someone whose work I love dearly, so, even when I don't "like" him, I love him nevertheless.

In the indefatigable The Land of Laughs, he presented a snoozing dog talking in his sleep. With that introduction, I never left.   

 

Delany's wonderful sci-fi works are not as relevant to the "enjoyment" of The Tides of Lust (originally: Equinox) as is Hogg, his most disturbing novel. Still, if you appreciate his love of language and his stubborn adherence to theme, you'll take much from this controversial, pornographic, and banned-in-some-countries work.

It describes the adventures (sexual and otherwise) of a diverse group of people, its leading protagonist being a black sea captain and his dog Niger (one 'n'). Its banning and subsequent revisions (mostly to address the age of some characters) resulted in its initial publisher (Savoy) being jailed. The '73 edition (pictured) contains the original text and copyright notice.

Delany, who writes vigorously and has no truck with gender distinctions, lets loose with a volley of uncompromising sexual excess that is never less than metaphorically relevant to its themes of corrupt authority and sadomasochistic powerplay. 

Truly an extraordinary work.

Also well worth reading is Delany's book on writing itself:

 

Another Savoy beaut in which Charles Platt invokes sexual anarchy via a sci-fi/horror premise. A gas loosed on Southern England has unexpected consequences for those affected. They become rapid fuckers of everything and everyone imaginable, and no body part or bodily fluid is excluded in a spirited free-for-all that feels wonderfully fresh.

Today's wild and unpredictable world of internet pornography seems closest to what Platt predicted. Back in 1970, when the book first appeared, it probably felt like a natural extension of both the free love movement and the growing permissiveness of popular culture.

Ironically, today, despite the existence of a Wild West underground internet culture, the book would surely shock common sensibilities a great deal more. Fanned by witchfinder generals of both underaged and unconventional sex, our sexual culture, though shoved at us in PG-rated bubbles via commercial trojan horses, is, at the same time, being demonized by anybody with a microphone and and a dubious political agenda.

The book is a riotous good time, an example of unfettered literary freedom, a freedom so well exercised, in fact, that author Platt later revised some passages, dismissing his original scribblings as symptoms of reckless youth.

As horror, social statement, and porn at gut level, this is a goddamned masterpiece, a Fuck You, Charlie! to hypocrisy .      

Sexual Adventure From Nikkatsu

Impulse Pictures (Synapse) released the "Nikkatsu Roman Porno Trailer Collection" last year to the gratitude of diehard Nikkatsu fans and devotees of on-screen erotica . Its release was not dissimilar to the sexy neighbor half disrobing for you as you ogled her from the assumed cover of a darkened room. She knows you want her, but she's not going to make it easy. She wants to test your long term interest, and who can blame her? A one night stand won't pay the bills or fuel her fires when nights are cold.

Finally, the sexy neighbor has made good on her promise and exposed her sleek little body not once but twice with the releases of True Story of a Woman in Jail - Sex Hell (Koyu Ohara), and Debauchery (Hidehiro Ito). Like many a shy lass, this one is full of delicious surprises.

Ohara's flick, the first in a a sleazy trio, is modeled on Shunya Ito's Female Convict Scorpion: Jailhouse 41 ('72), but it's less surreal, more erotic, and far sleazier than any 'Scorpion' entry with the exception of Masaru Konuma's Caged ('83). Having directed a minor erotic classic (Fairy in a Cage; '77) and one of my favorite pink flicks of all time, White Rose Campus - Then, Everyone Gets Raped ('82), Oharu delivers the expected goods to Sex Hell, but he also succeeds in bringing a surprising amount of solid characterization to the movie, as well as some sharp performances. In all honesty, female prison flicks can be repetitive and overly familiar, usually meeting conventions and little else, but Ohara's effort here demonstrates commitment to producing a work that rises above the usual.

From a kink perspective, this is one juicy and creative exercise. Ticking the usual boxes (lesbianism, rape, and shower fondling), it also adds a cheery helping of golden games and sensual brutality. A bloody tampon makes an appearance here, too, and would again seven years later in the wild White Rose Campus; in that, a pervert  enters a public bathroom and engages in some mind-boggling tampon-sniffing. Ohara's strength is his guiltless commitment to the material.

A terrific DVD bonus here is a color reproduction of the film's original poster; it's an absolute corker. On top of that, Japanese film expert Jasper Sharp provides concise and info-rich liner notes on the film and its cinematic context.


Highly recommended... and the first sequel is on its way...

 Impulse's simultaneous release is the inferior Debauchery ('83) from director/writer Hidehiro Ito. Ryoko Watanabe stars as an unhappy housewife who finds herself on a semi-reluctant erotic odyssey to a land way beyond her personal boundaries.

Directed and shot with an average amount of style, it's powered by a strong central performance and a constant escalation of its shock factor. 

The theme of a woman exploring her limits is not new at all in Japanese cinema. Recent releases such as the Flower and Snake remakes have plumbed these well-worn depths with unbridled panache, but Debauchery, though a more modest affair, lifts itself out of typical 'Oniroku Dan' territory (many of these efforts are based on Dan's novels) by sheer invention and a refusal to remain within "acceptable" limits (relatively speaking); the "explosive" climax neatly returns our heroine to her initial starting point, completing a neat circle. During this period in Nikkatsu's history, their output was as controversial and limit-pushing as possible. Debauchery reflects that status.

With these two releases, Impulse has established a solid standard for their Nikkatsu releases. The transfer/print quality is as good as it's going to get (bar a Blu-Ray bump), and the choice of material is strong.

One of the upcoming titles that excites me immensely is 'Zoom In: Rape Apartments', a truly mind-boggling piece of fiery erotica that will be retitled Zoom In: Sex Apartments for its US debut. This film is a must for the whole damn family (well, at least those over eighteen).

 

Also falling into the must-buy category are Eros School: Feels So Good, and Zoom Up: The Beaver Book Girl (not seen by me, this one, but I'm as excited as the bloke on the cover).

 

Kang Je-Kyu's MY WAY

 
Did I like Je-kyu Kang's My Way (Mai Wei; 2011) as much as his Tae Guk Gi: The Brotherhood of War (2004)? Not as much. But I was still very impressed.

I feel fortunate to have seen the film at LA's CGV cinemas. These Korean cinemas, recently built, are owned by CJ Entertainment, the producers of My Way and some of Korea's biggest movies. As cinemas go, these are the cat's meow. Incredible digital presentation. Ear-bending accoustics. Great seats. A far cry from the last Asian-focused cinema I sat in (Melbourne's Chinatown Cinema), that's for sure. Situated in Koreatown (a mile and a bit off the 10 freeway), the cinema (there are four screens) is also screening Nameless Gangster and Helpless, both worthy efforts -- and very recent releases in Korea. Some weeks see popular Hollywood releases filling the screens also.

In the US and elsewhere, My Way has been butchered by critics for its alleged excesses. Having seen it, this criticism seems undeserved. The film is big and loud and glossy. The dramatic situations are ultra-dramatic and ultra-emotional. Like any film, it manipulates your feelings and runs you through a gamut of emotions. Is it excessive? No. Is it violent? Yes. In fact, it feels somewhat like an old John Woo film with more money and resources. A Bullet In The Head with a little less darkness. Beginning well prior to WW2, the story involves two privileged athletes, a Korean and a Japanese, who find themselves reluctantly fighting side-by-side in several of WW2's bloody arenas. Like Tae Guk Gi, it is driven by themes of patriotism, xenophobia, and brotherly conflict. As I'm reluctant to give the movie's many surprises away, I must mention that there's much to "enjoy" and  marvel at as our hero, Jun-shik Kim (Dong-gun Jang, who was so good in Tae Guk Gi) finds himself pressed into service for the Soviets, the Japanese, and the Nazis.

How historically accurate the whole shebang actually is is not of immense interest to me. I was sucked into the film's violent maelstrom and engaged by its relentless drama. There are several extraordinary set pieces, and a generous serving of true cinematic poetry.

Said to be the mostly costly Korean movie ever made, it is certainly a major achievement. And though it doesn't rise to the level of  Tae Guk Gi's command of all cinema's disciplines, it delivers old-fashioned entertainment on a scale that never erupts into excess.

If you can make it to CJ's new cinemas in LA, you're in for a treat.

 

The Theatre Bizarre

 The Theatre Bizarre is an ambitious showcase for the work of six directors, an anthology-style piece of cinema that borrows the structure of Amicus movies such as Tales From The Crypt, The Vault of Horror, The House That Dripped Blood, and Asylum. There is a traditional wrap-around segment from which the individual short films are launched, and this segment, in itself, is visually impressive. The British spelling of 'Theatre' in the title is indicative perhaps of the British background of the film's originating producers.

 The film was made for a very small budget and is a terrific example of what can be done with love, passion, sacrifice and commitment. The feel of the introductory segment is Grand Guignol-inspired, but the six films themselves don't necessarily adhere to that theme, and better represent the individual, unfettered dreams of directors Richard Stanley (The Mother of Toads), Buddy Giovinazzo (I Love You), Tom Savini (Wet Dreams), Douglas Buck (The Accident), Karim Hussain (Vision Stains), and David Gregory (Sweets).

 What you, as a viewer, will take from the film will depend on where your tastes lie as far as horror goes. Stanley's segment, which references Bava, Argento, Fulci, and Warren publications, is a Lovecraftian journey into witchery set in a foggy, visually stunning section of rural France. Lacking structure, it even feels like some of Fulci's more puzzling works. Giovinazzo's I Love You, set in a Berlin apartment, is an intimate essay on the disintegration of a relationship that ends as you would expect a Giovinazzo movie to end. Referencing Zulawski's Possession (at least tonally), its greatest asset is its strong cast of two. Wet Dreams, directed by Tom Savini, delivers a tasty feast of gore, sex, and sleaze. A cheating husband pays for his deeds with foul, paranoid dreams. Without a doubt, this story is in closest proximity to the spirit of the old EC-inspired anthologies. The Accident, by Douglas buck, opens with images that echoed, for me, Agnes Varda's Vagabond. Probably the most deeply disturbing of the offerings, it plays and feels like European arthouse horror, and involves an accident that affects a mother and daughter.

 Director Karim Hussein, who also shot Stanley's Toads, serves up Vision Stains, a pleasingly subversive and wet entry with a strong premise that, unfortunately, is not as well explored dramatically as it could have been. Some additional writing might have helped. Still, it's visually invigorating, and the lead performance is strong. Finally, David Gregory (also one of the anthology's producers), follows up with Sweets, his first directorial effort since Plague Town. Of the bunch, this was the most outright entertaining for me, and its subject of extreme gluttony had me squirming. Reveling in a cinematic form of Grand Gastronomic Guignol, it consciously or unconsciously references the surreal excesses of Marco Ferreri's La Grande Bouffe with its lurid tale of a  young couple and their sweet tooth. As its focus is a familiar subject, the "relate" factor to its putrid, vomitous horror is high.

Anthologies directed by one person (Creepshow, for example) are difficult to rate because success is based on the effectiveness of multiple stories, not one. Anthologies directed by six directors, such as this, are an even more difficult proposition. The Theatre Bizarre is an appropriate title because each tale is bizarre, and the theatre serves as a gallery for the exhibition of multiple genre efforts with very loose thematic connections. Also worth mentioning is the fine atmosphere and strangeness director Jeremy Kasten achieves with his wraparound segment in which a young woman is drawn to a strange theatre filled with mannequins, odd machinery, and Udo Kier. I couldn't help thinking that there is a story about this theatre and its inhabitants somewhere.

Not as consistently Grand Guignol as the title suggests, this unusual anthology is, nevertheless, well worth the admission price.

A DVD (from Image) with excellent commentaries on most segments and some brief behind-the-scenes snippets is now available. Unfortunately, Image didn't deem the film worthy of a BluRay release. Hopefully, they'll get a clue and address that error in judgment.

Pretty Porno Paperbacks

Your Ad Here

Looks like someone didn't get the mail on the "switch". Once again, Liverpool heats up the neighborhood. Gorgeous art.  And is that 'The Riddler' (Frank Gorshin) pawing the blonde beauty?

 

The price is very reasonable. Still cheaper than a divorce.

 

Dwarves on Horses get their own porno novel. I wonder if he whispered sweet nothings into her ear in that funny, high-pitched jockey voice? That'd get her G-spot spinning.

 

"Love That Made a Panty-Waist Into a Man"? Gold! More gritty art and a story to stick under your mattress for just 50 cents.

 

It's a little rude of dad's mate to leave his hat on inside the house. Fairly minimal illustration with the prevailing dominance theme. I can imagine what he's planning to do with that cigarette, and it doesn't involve smoking.

 

I love this style of illustration. Very robust.

 

...and one hot story, that's for sure. First spotted this little number in a porno shop window on my way home from seeing Star Wars for the first time. I soon forgot about Princess Leia.

 

Not sure how interested the readership was in 'Little Brother' and his pervy antics. 

 

Race relations were good in porn way before they were good anywhere else.

 

Just a stark white cover and a sleazy photograph. Perfect. Still, I'd prefer an illustration any day. Leaves so much more to the imagination. The dude's cowboy hat is a classy move.

The Voice With Balls Is Back!

 LA-based Tom Leykis went off the radio three years ago when the station that paid his wages, KLSX, changed formats.  Tom's absence left a big hole in the country's radio market, a market biased entirely towards another kind of hole, and entirely against males (and what being male means) The Oprah-centric American media, which pushes a line that all women are victims of or will be victims of  male "abuse", and all men are would-be rapists, provides virtually no voice for males who are happy being who they are and proud of it.

The pussification of all media has created an environment where men's issues (in the media) are minimized and poorly regarded, and men (as singles, fathers, and husbands) are expected to toe the line of a powerful and influential strata of once-freedom-loving women-now-turned-bitter-middle-agers.

Well, the fighting voice of voice of male reason has returned. Despite the fact that so-called "experts" said it couldn't be done, Leykis, now out of contract, has returned to his seat of influence, and that seat is on-line. Eschewing traditional radio offers, and pioneering a new radio paradigm, he has drawn much criticism for his decision to take his brand to the worldwide web. Also drawing criticism has been his decision to make his show both ad- and subscriber-supported, in addition to the self-support he has given it.

 Just fifteen days in to this bold "experiment", the figures are pretty amazing. In the first week, Leykis had 401,000 listeners. In fifteen days, he has 700 paid subscribers who get additional content. His old terrestrial radio show, which occupied a regular slot on KLSX for 12 years, averaged 330,000 listeners. To put all this into perspective, consider that this 401,000 figure is much higher than LA's highly promoted terrestrial station KABC. In fact, as Leykis himself pointed out on his show this week, there are 14 other LA/Orange Country radio station that don't have 410,000 listens between them (!).

If you're male and you've never listened to Tom, do yourself a favor and go to:

http://blowmeuptom.com

Nobody but nobody in the world does what Tom is doing.

The general media and the family courts have been demonizing men for decades. Surely, you say, there's hope somewhere?

Yes, there is.

If you're male and you give a shit about "adult living" (as Tom calls it), Leykis is relevant to every aspect of your life.

If you're a young male, get out from under your girlfriend's pussy and grow a fuckin pair. Whether it's info on getting the job you want, dealing with women, maintaining your independence, or taking control of your future , Leykis is essential listening.

If you're a woman and you want to truly understand men, give Oprah and her mamby-pamby bullshit the old heave-ho, and confront the truth about men.

Leykis, the Voice With Balls, is back!

Cabins, Mirrors, Stooges, and Death Star Revisits

 If The Cabin in the Woods is the next "Big Thing" in horror, then horror is done, at least horror as we once knew it. That is: Horror that horrifies. Because this collects all the cliches and tired horror tropes of several decades of horror movies and blends them into a self-aware stew, it's ultra-predictable from a suspense point of view, and not one bit scary.

I saw it once a few months ago and again this weekend with company. My initial reaction hasn't changed; it's been cemented. 

Not content to steal from the best and worst of horror films, it also steals big time from dear old H.P. Lovecraft and the oeuvre of Clive Barker.  It does this in a smarmy, distancing way that constantly diffuses its primary narrative.

The Rubik's cube-style poster art is fairly appropriate, except Rubik built a cube that made complete sense. This doesn't. This left me with too many unanswered questions and logic issues the filmmakers glossed over. I got bored quickly because it mined so much familiar material such as Evil Dead (of course), The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (both versions, although the score has actual music phrases from Marcus Nispel's remake), Bay of Blood/Friday the 13th, Dellamorte Dellamore, Halloween, The Twilight Zone, The Truman Show, Nightbreed, the list goes on); theft of this magnitude is not new, but when there's so much thieving going on, it's hard for horror film makers to meet basic horror film requirements such as scaring an audience. Ironically, it's the pre-awareness of all elements that kills the thrills because horror, at its core, is about the unknown, and nothing is unknown here at all.

The film's hook is a technical one that reveals something broader. The revelation is served  to us after the whole shebang has gone to hell. Ultimately, The Cabin in the Woods becomes an unholy mess that throws all logic out the window. The concept, on paper, must have radiated potential, but the film is a case of too many scattershot ideas canceling each other out.

I never thought I'd say it after watching the trailers, but I enjoyed and admired Tarsem Singh's Mirror Mirror, a well written and restrained (for this director) re-telling of the Snow White saga.

Many moons ago, director Rob Reiner made a little gem spawned by fairytales called The Princess Bride. It worked because it had a smart script filled with fascinating characters who mouthed intelligent dialog. And it was funny. Mirror Mirror, a similar case, is not as good as Bride, but it's not too shabby, either, and reflects some of Bride's jovial tone.

Launching itself into familiar story territory, the film does contend with a creeping sense of predictability, but it counters what we know and expect with clever dialog, good-natured humor, and occasional detours into the surreal (a scene in which the seven dwarves battle a puppet is really inventive).

Julia Roberts is perfectly cast as an aging queen, and the mouth-watering Lily Collins is never less than engaging as she transitions from palace shut-in to a feisty female warrior.  Sean Bean, playing The King, has almost nothing to do, but acquits himself adequately. The real stars of the show are the seven horizontally challenged blokes who are blessed with mountains of great comedy material by writers Jason Keller and Melisa Wallack.

I was clearly in the right mood for this amusing fairytale fluff and even found myself marveling at some of the incredible costumery of Eiko Ishioka. That's not like me at all.

It's not a fact that the world needed the Farrelly Brothers' Three Stooges movie, but the world go it, anyway. It pads its thin narrative with a backstory where we learn how Larry, Moe, and Curly came to be. Its primary plot involves murder and the boys trying to raise almost a million dollars to keep their old orphanage open. The twists and turns are sub-sitcom at best.

The original Stooges films worked best as shorts. There were features, but the shorts provided the trio with the best structure for their shenanigans. This flick relies heavily on the physical interaction the Stooges were famous for and there are some extremely funny and grotesque exchanges that celebrate sadism with a smile. After a while, though, it becomes tiring because the dramatic scenario barely holding it all together isn't complex enough for a feature. The Mr. Bean movies suffered from this problem also. Bean, like the Stooges, is best in short bursts. Comedy of this nature requires a simple but strong premise on which to hang the schtick. The premise here would have been tight at ten to fifteen minutes. At ninety, its endless. Which is proof that comedians like The Three Stooges and Bean don't work in feature length scenarios.

There is nothing terribly wrong with the actors portraying the famous trio here, but the flick's kid-friendly tone is strangely inconsistent at times. A stand-out, however, is the presence of a very sexy nun (Kate Upton) in a killer swimsuit at the film's conclusion. Not worth the price of admission, but it justifies a serious perve for Nunsploitation fans. You know who you are.

 Lockout, with Guy Pearce (who is very good in a cliched role), is a super-generic action flick set in the space just above our planet. It's part Escape From New York, part Con Air, part Face/Off, part Lost in Space episode 'Condemned of Space'('67), and part Star Wars. Actually, the climax is all Star Wars as X-Wing fighters attack the Death Star (!) and blow it up.

From Luc Besson's Europa Corp, the film is mildly entertaining and features enough brutality and crazed performances (Vincent Regan and Joseph Gilgun) to keep you awake. But that's all.