Psycho Gothic Lolita

Well, because the title, that's why.

As the trailer for Psycho Gothic Lolita announces: "Beauty, modeling and action! The core of Japanese films all in one!" There's also a goodly bit of splatter. Also known as Gothic & Lolita Psycho, it's a fast-moving series of fight scenes, punctuated with gallons of fake blood, none of which gets on our heroine's fabulous outfit.

 Basically the story is that Psycho Gothic Lolita's mom was murdered and her dad (who is apparently a priest) was paralyzed by some gang in black trenchcoats and now, of course, she is out for vengeance. I don't think we ever find out why the killed her family and there is an absurd twist at the end that would make even M. Night Shyamalan say, "That shit was contrived and unnecessary," but what kind of fool watches something called Psycho Gothic Lolita for the plot?

 

Our heroine has five people she needs to off in order to even the score for mom--each one is represented by a tarot-style card, a device that, like so many things in Psycho Gothic Lolita, remains unexplained. Her father, who is now in a wheelchair, is her Q and builds her a number of interesting umbrella-based weapons but we have no idea why she has to dress up in Gothic Lolita drag to get revenge--in the (tedious, overused) flashbacks, she is conventionally attired

As our Psycho Gothic Lolita, Rina Akiyama looks great, but isn't much in the charisma department: Not so much implacable killing machine as a outfit and a gimmick with a catchphrase that doesn't make sense. Although it is a hell of an outfit--love the umbrella-styled sleeves and laced-up skirt even if the Marie Antoinette via Michaels hairdo doesn't really do it for me. Also, i know it's all about consistency, but I wish she'd had one or two more outfits. The movie is about fashion, so give me some costume changes, dammit!

It also feels like they missed some opportunities with her opponents. Her biggest adversary, Elle, is in Gyaru style with pink lipgloss and a TLC-style eyepatch, as well as a pair of knife/guns, one of which has a built-in cellphone. (Wait--Elle with an eyepatch and guns? Well, I guess it's nice to see someone stealing from Tarantino for a change.) But the rest of the folks she battles are a sort of random assortment--if we're here for fashion, every one of them should have been some kind of Tokyo street style stereotype. She should have had to take on a Kogal schoolgirl or some Fairy Kei bitch in a Care Bears T-shirt and pastel fake fur.

 

There is one brilliant scene where she runs into "KAMIKAZE," a ridiculous bunch of Westerners that are half-Karate Kid, half-West Side Story and completely hilarious. Psycho Gothic Lolita ain't no Sex and Fury and it ain't no Heroic Trio. Hell, it's not even Tokyo Gore Police. But it does have its moments.

Tokyo Gore Police

You know how the Double Down has those edited videos that blend anime porn, foreign sexploitation, horror trailers, underground cartoons and old commercials? Well, Moss can save himself some work for the next round and just throw on a copy of Tokyo Gore Police, which has most of those ingredients chopped up and ready to serve.

Chopped up indeed. Tokyo Gore Police takes blood-spewing, limb-severing grossness and slams it to the nth level. If it wasn't so ridiculous, it'd be upsetting -- ridiculous not only in the sense of a nonsensical plot, but it's also a movie that knows when you need to see that the exploding head is almost laughably (and entirely laughably, if you've had a few beers) fake. Also because sometimes they just say "Fuck it," point a hose full of red tempera paint at the camera and let 'er rip.

Tokyo Gore Police is set in a dystopian future (Is there any other kind?) where there's lots of violence and crime and it's always night. The Tokyo Police Corporation are locked in perpetual battle with "the Engineers," a mutant race of criminals that sprout weapons from their wounds. So, if you cut an engineer's hand off, it may grow a chainsaw. Hack a leg off, it might turn into a sword... and other bizarre and brutal transformations.

As you can see, the cops need a little help and that help comes in the form of Ruka, miniskirted master warrior, daughter of an assassinated police captain. Her entrance has distinct echoes of Maggie Cheung in The Heroic Trio, except the cutting part is a little more like a Lifetime movie. There's also a bit of noir in the sets and styling, but the excess of red throws it off a little...

Another feature of Tokyo Gore Police is the use of "commercials" for things like cartoon character wrist-cutter knives or PSAs against committing hara-kiri over your job, as well as "news reports" on the latest grotesque crime. It also has a very cool sort of Shonen Knife/5678s/Stereo Total Japanese garage rock soundtrack.

We've also got a brothel scene that is a triple-X mutant Mos Eisley horrorshow -- it makes the gay bar in Dinah East look like a Mormon Tupperware party and the eyeballs in the nipples bit from Gothic like something from Forest Gump.

Oh, and there's a lot of gimps in this movie. Lotta gimps. Variations on a gimp suit you never thought of before -- actually you get to see nice closeups of a number of sex toys. I'd suggest that the various Adult Emporiums and Love Stores put it on screen to encourage sales, except you know, the violence. And the blood. And the vagina dentata...

As Ruka, Eihi Shiina is blank-faced and emotionally distant but, well, that does make her a welcome bit of solidity in a film of whirling excess, as well as an example of the troubled-child-grows-up-into-implacable-killing-machine hero meme familiar from so many action flicks. And, as you can tell from these stills, the lady knows how to create a picture on screen.

Know what happens when you grab my ass on the subway?
My samurai sword makes a Bellagio fountain out of your grimy mitts.

There's some excess plot about an engineer called the Keymaker who is out to get our heroine (But why?), who is also out to get whoever killed her father (But who?) Tokyo Gore Police runs a little long and they could have done without some of the storyline. Heaven knows they weren't going to cut any of the effects. If sometimes the movie seems to stop entirely to flaunt some particularly visceral and horrible bit of construction, bear in mind that the director, Yoshihira Nishimura, is best known for his work on special effects makeup and he let himself go a bit nuts on sort of David Cronenberg/Tetsuo: The Iron Man hybrids...

 Why, yes, Todd Akin, a woman's body does "have a way of shutting that down."
Wanna see it?

Tokyo Gore Police is not everyone's cup of tea. In fact, i am pretty sure it is a cup of tea that will cause most people to make a distressed noise and immediately rush to pour it out in the sink. (And even if you're inured to fake blood and body parts, they swing around and get you with someone eating bugs on the subway.) But, if you like the gross and the black humor and the hallucinatory-level weird -- or just dig special-effects makeup --it's worth a look, although you probably will also be spending some of the running time looking away...

Jesus Christ, i thought BatRatSpiderCrab was horrible....

Master of the Flying Guillotine

What's my favorite martial arts movie? Well, Enter the Dragon, of course -- it's in a class by itself. But my second fave is Master of the Flying Guillotine, which has more fight action than any other film of its genre -- hell, perhaps of any film ever!

The plot of the film is simple: The blind Master of the Flying Guillotine is out to kill the One-Armed Boxer. Yes, this is a fighting film in which the two protagonists are, ahem, differently-abled. This does not prevent them from kicking insane amounts of ass. Master of the Flying Guillotine is one ass-kicking after another. Hell, in the middle of the movie they stop dead for a martial arts tournament that absorbs about a third of the film's running time with nothing but one warrior after another duking out to the death in whatever bizarre fighting style they favor. It's basically Mortal Kombat or Street Fighter in film form (and both those games would rip off ideas and characters from this sequence).

So, we open with Fung, the eponymous Flying Guillotine Master getting some kind of braille message via domino via carrier pigeon that his two disciples have been killed by the One-Armed Boxer. Never mind that said disciples set out to kill said One-Armed Boxer, somehow they must be avenged. So Fung Master jumps through his roof, whips off a bunch of fencepost skulls with his flying guillotine, blows up his house and sets off to dish out the comeuppance!

Cue the opening credits, distinguished by some nice action stills but, more than that, an amazing garage-distorted, wah-wah-pedaled theme song that sounds like the Butthole Surfers trying to impersonate T. Rex. This is not the first or only piece of brilliant musical incongruity in Master of the Flying Guillotine -- Fung is constantly accompanied by a grinding Krautrock soundtrack (yes, that is actually Can and also some Neu!) that adds to his menace -- two other characters will be fighting or talking, but most likely fighting and suddenly this industrial grind n' groan rises on the soundtrack and WHACK! someone's headless.

The flying guillotine itself is a sort of birdcage-sawblade contraption -- you throw it at your enemy, it lands on their head, pull the chain and Voila! Instant decapitation. Such is the fate of Fung the Guillotine's first victim -- a three-limbed wino who cadges free drinks by telling everyone he's the famous One-Armed Boxer. You'd think in Martial Arts Battle Universe one would know better than to impersonate a legendary fighter, as legendary fighters always have someone out to rip their fucking head off with a doubled-bladed frisbee on a bike chain.

In the meantime, the real One-Armed Boxer -- played by director Jimmy Wang Yu -- is running his Kung Fu School and nobly refusing to participate in the upcoming big-money battle royale.

And so we come to said martial arts tournament. And, literally, it is one wacky fighter after another getting in the ring and battling until one's corpse is carried away. Behold...

Fake Bruce Lee vs. Fake Bruce Lee

Pointy-Hat High-Jump vs. The Man With Strategically Exposed Nipples

Mighty Choking Pigtail vs. Mustache Leatherdaddy

Little Guy Who Kicks People in the Nuts vs. Big Guy Who Punches People in the Face

Princess Eagle Claw vs. Monkeybutt-asshole.

Two Guys Who Fight on Poles Over a Pit of Knives

Yes, that's how good this movie is: Fighting on poles over a pit of knives is a throwaway battle.

Blades n' Jammies vs. Gadget Arms Yoga Guy

Uncouth Muy Thai Douchebag vs.Snakestyle Fancypants

Mantis-Style Moptop vs. The Wrong One-Armed Boxer 

Of course, Actual One-Armed Boxer gets dragged into this once he realizes Old Blind Nazi Monk Who I Bet Digs Throbbing Gristle Too is on a mission and will not be stopped.

Well, think about it: He's blind. It's not like he can carry around the photo -- sorry, the little domino with the bas-relief one-armed man -- and check it. Better to just kill 'em all.

One-Armed Boxer shoos his kung fu students off to safety, takes a challenge from Uncouth Muy Thai Douchebag (who is in cahoots with Flying Guillotine, somehow) and Gadget Arms Yoga Guy (Did you really think they were only gonna use that one once?). Master of the Flying Guillotine understands that good martial arts movies are like porn in one crucial aspect: The audience is here for the action. Plot is downtime. Get to what we came to see. Thus, Master of the Flying Guillotine has a crazed, balls-to-the-wall fight every five minutes and often more frequently than that.

Finally Flying Guillotine and One-Armed Boxer duke it out in a no-holds-barred battle, with a warm-up duel against Uncouth Mui Thai Douchebag.. All of this took a lot of location scouting -- we even see them renting the coffin shop (Yes!) for the closing fight. The One-Armed Boxer is as much about strategy as he is about force. I bet he can chessbox too...

Again, to reiterate, Master of the Flying Guillotine is a must-see in the world of martial arts flicks. It has inspired remakes, hip-hop albums, T-shirts, action figures, countless ripoffs and its own Urban Dictionary.  entry. Can you say the same about Citizen Kane or Last Year in Marienbad?

The Scarlet Lady

I watch movies for witty dialogue, high drama, cinematography, kung fu, explosions and zombies. I also sometimes watch them for the costumes. Actually a lot of the time. Sometimes the costumes come with the dialogue and the drama and the cinematography... not so much the kung fu unless you feel up to writing a thesis on the visual similarities of Hero and The Cook, the Thief, his Wife and her Lover (actually i may do that, now that i think of it). The Scarlet Lady has great outfits, but it also has a great mod/existential vibe led by the alternately whimsical and despairing performance of the fabulous Monica Vitti.

La Vitti plays Eva, a glamorous young executive who heads her own perfume company. In the first scene, her sleazy boyfriend rolls over one morning and announces that he has tricked her out of the business. Literally: Somehow she hired him for the marketing department and he's managed to get hold of her bonds, foreclose the mortgage and sell the joint off in one fell swoop. After announcing this, he rolls over, lights a cigarette and says mildly that he'll be leaving soon. Which, i mean, it's not like you'd want him after that, but he should have had the decency to at least let the lady yell "Get the fuck out!" and perhaps throw something. She goes to her office, meets with her accountant, and utters the words women -- and some men -- have uttered since time immemorial.

Then Eva does what any unemployed, financially ruined, single woman would do: sells off the contents of her Baroque villa and her penthouse flat, pawns her jewelry and jets off to Paris. In thigh-high black boots and a stunning leopard coat. If that is not a response to disaster, i do not know what is. Except that Eva plans on killing herself as soon as she gets to Paris. Okay, well, if that is not also a response to disaster, i do not know what is.

She winds up at a modest hotel in Montparnasse, where she promptly heads for the bathroom, pours a glass of water, pulls out her trusty bottle of Super-Duper-Euro-Sleeping-Pills and... there's only one left. Damn! You never see this happen to people suicide-ing in movies, but i bet it does happen more than you'd think.

So, she heads out to pick up another bottle of Super-Duper-Euro-Sleeping-Pills -- because in that civilized continent all you have to do is ask some old lady in a white coat and she hands 'em over. Fuck, i bet she'd give you Dilaudid! Especially if you were Monica Vitti. Rocking a lorgnette and the world's most awesome leopard coat.

Well, second most awesome, after the one i have that Moss keeps trying to get from me. Anyway, as you can see, after loading up at Frau Feelgood's, she picks up some caviar and champagne for her final exit. Once back at her modest -- albeit beautifully tiled -- hotel room, she also changes into the first of several sets of delicious white silk satin lounging pajamas. Because everyone should have several sets, each in a different style. I call this one the Russian. Note the high collar, asymmetrical closure and fringe around the hem.

Exactly what i would wear to add a little panache to a desperate, lonely attempt at ending my own life. Anyway, just as she's about to do the deed, Eva has an important epiphany: Why should I die alone when I can take that miserable fucker who ruined my life with me!?!?! A realization more people should have. (I've had mine: Hope you get yours soon.)

Miserable Fucker will not arrive in Paris until Friday. Thus, our heroine had almost a week to Live, Live, Live as Auntie Mame would say. Her first step? Okay, well, her first step is buying a gun. She, with much put-on femininity, convinces the clerk to step into the back in search of something "Oh... mmmm. plus petite." You know, "Fits unnoticed in my red patent-leather purse until just the right moment for me to shoot someone. Also leaving enough room for compact, keys and credit card, of course."

 

 ...and then runs out of the shop and around the corner with patent-leather-purse-sized gat in hand. Next step? Buying a luxury automobile. And not any puny Cadillac, Rolls or Bentley. No, our girl has waaaay more style than that: She buys an Austin Princess. The same car the queen drives. She buys it by pulling the guy over and handing him a wad of cash. While wearing a lovely beige princess-line coat and matching go-go boots outfit. They match the new ride because you should always buy your car to go with your ensemble and not the other way around. Although somehow it is the exact same look she was wearing earlier when she was stealing guns, except it was green then. I'm not sure if that's intentional or not. My good friend Laura has also pointed out to me that La Vitti's hair length changes throughout the film. We don't mean the wigs.

Outfits? Did i say outfits? Cut to the obligatory shopping montage! The Scarlet Lady gives the people what they want!

This delightful coat (from Christian Dior) is apparently the reason for the title, although the film is also known as The Bitch Wants Blood, which is also an awesome title, although for another film, probably one starring Barbara Steele and Bette Davis, a guest appearance by the mighty, mighty Charles Gray if we're lucky... where was i? Oh! Yes! Monica Vitti checks into the Paris Hilton. (You may insert your own witticism about how many people have checked into the Paris Hilton, how much baggage can fit into the Paris Hilton lobby, the lack of carpeting at the Paris Hilton...) Yes, i was hoping for the Georges Cinq as well, but i guess they didn't have a Pierre Cardin suite or whatever this is:

And, then, of course, we put on an glitter-encrusted flapper dress and a wig (although hopefully our wig would be more Clara Bow than Vicki Lawrence) and stuff our purse with popsicles and go to the opera. Actually, that sounds exactly like what i'd do, but our heroine is bored.

Probably because she's seems to be at a performance of Tristan und Isolde. Yup, nothing like Wagner for the old mirth in the face of disaster. That'll lighten your spiritual load. Now, if she had gone to see Der Rosenkavalier she'd had enjoyed that far more. The last week of one's like lived to the hilt is Richard Strauss. Perhaps a little Puccini or some Nozze di Figaro.

So, anyway, the next day she's wandering around her hotel dressed up as a cross between Lee Van Cleef and Margaret Hamilton -- love the hat -- and wanders into a press conference for some ersatz mock-Beatles British rock group and somehow immediately charms a legion of men by pretending to be Swiss, sneezing a lot and persuading them all to get married. I know! That's how cool Monica Vitti is: She does this shit and it's utterly charming! But there's absolutely nothing coy or little-girlish about her.

The next morning, Eva awakens in the Pierre Cardin suite wearing yet another set of white silk satin pajamas. I call this one the Asian since it has a sort of kimono-sleeve, Judo outfit look. You can't quite see the detail, but you can see the awesome Pop-Art phone and the vintage turntable (Yes!) next to the bed. Also the dozens of roses sent by her new legion of admirers. See how sexy realizing life is meaningless makes you?!

 

Anyway, then the legion of admirers take her out. She changes for each one. For the lawyer, this pale-pink, one-sleeved evening gown with big ol' head of Liz Taylor-circa-1970 hair.

For the rock band manager, naturally, she dresses up as Anita Pallenberg.

 For her date with the band itself--all four members--she repeats on the dress, wig and (a bigger) boa from the opera scene. Well, hey, dressing for the opera does kind of send that "Don't jam a shark up my ladyparts" message.

While all this merriment is happening, some guy that Eva had lunch with on the Eiffel Tower is looking for her. See, somewhere between buying the luxury car and the fur coat, she wanted lunch, didn't want to eat alone, picked up some not-terribly-interesting guy and shared a large meal with him. During which she intensely discussed how to strain strawberries for desert, casually mentioned killing herself, picked up the check and snuck out without giving her name. So every now and then we cut from the dizzying highs, bitter lows, and stunning gowns of La Vitti to poor schlub running around Paris trying to find her. Seriously, if you really got this kind of action from existential pangs and a death wish, i'd have been married more times than all three Gabor sisters combined.

Eva continues kicking ass and taking names as death's even-increasing proximity makes her more and more flirtatious. Although this is not always as much fun as it seems, as when she sits in a bar, smoking what seem to be Nat Sherman Cigaretellos (or perhaps Telly Savalas Mores) and waiting for one of the men surrounding her to say something interesting (i know how she feels). Observe her gorgeous deep teal-green satin, poet-sleeved minidress.

Finally, the band and its manager and lawyer show up, pursued by screaming fans. But fuck those groupies -- well, actually, no, we're NOT gonna fuck those groupies. We're gonna play a private gig for Monica Vitti and a bunch of guys who are trying to bang her! They eat a fancy dinner why we play bad Yardbirds knockoffs and then they get up and dance!

 Groovy, baby! Has anyone ever told you that look look like Angie Dickinson!?

After which the manager somehow lands the prize and lures Eva La Vitti back to his hotel room. Where she finds his stash. And he gets her high.

 Not knowing that all the weed in the world will not make that anything but one ugly-ass rug you've got on your head, my friend. And then you went and put on a caftan. Jesus, why didn't you just chop your dick off and throw it out a window?

Finally, we have our rendezvous with Miserable Fucker.

They go back to her hotel room. She shows off a lovely red Lurex-knit dress with lace-up front and sleeves. The perfect dress to distract any heterosexual male from your plans to murder him.

But for how long?

Wait! That's not the gun she stole! Scroll back up there! See -- that gun. In the gun shop. It's much bigger. But, well, her hair changes from short and straight to long and curly, her coat changes from green to beige: I guess she can change a revolver into an automatic. She is, after all, Monica Fucking Vitti.

So, does she kill Miserable Fucker? Does Poor Schlub ever find her? Eh, what does it matter? You know what does matter? This:

Cartier. Petrossian. Vivier. Vitti.