Horrible Non-Horror! Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun Li

As a girl who became a woman during the golden era of Sega Genesis, Capcom's Street Fighter game series is something of a landmark in my life. Sure, Ms. Pacman stepped outside the PacKitchen to fight some ghosties beside her hubby, but as a teenager, it was easier to identitfy with and aspire to the grace, strength, and beauty of one Chun Li.

Hence, one could color me quite excited to see a feature film based on my favorite video game character of all time (screw you Princess Daisy). If it had even one tenth the glee of 1994's Street Fighter (perhaps a candidate for a future Why I Love...  post) I'd be happier than a 13 year old boy with an unlimited supply of quarters at an arcade.

But expectation is something of my mortal enemy, and Andrzej Bartkowiak (the much heralded director of another video game turned head scratcher, Doom)‘s Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun Li is something of...well...the latest entry in Horrible Non-Horror! 

Quick Plot: Young piano prodigy Chun Li lives a charmed life in Hong Kong, practicing Beethoven and tai chi with her loving, well-connected businessman father. Everything changes for the melodramatic when M. Bison--Neal McDonough with a David Boreanz-like occasional Irish brogue--abducts Daddy Dearest to do his bidding. Chun Li, meanwhile, grows into the slightly Asian Kristen Kreuk, a Julliard trained pianist who for no real reason, instantly becomes a superheroine crime fighter in the streets of Bangkok.

I suppose the plotting is a little more sensical, especially as every main story point is narrated ever so specifically and art-ic-ul-ate-ly by the slow-reading Kreuk. In Thailand, Chun Li finds Gen, former partner to Bison and current street fighting sensai. As she trains, our tale gets diverted to most hilariously unbelievable detectives in the history of cinema: Chris "I Hate Fat Chicks" Klein and Moon "My Name Is Really Stupid" Bloodgood.

And here, dear readers, is where Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun Li becomes a Doll's House classic. Movie fans are hard on Keanu Reeves, which makes the fact that Klein seemed to model his Interpol agent on Ted “Theodore” Logan with a hangover rather fantastic. I dare even the most stoic Spartan warrior to get through this film without bursting into giggles just about every time Klein (call me Nash! Interpol!) opens his mouth, 80% of the time to say "I love this job." He's matched by Bloodgood (seriously)'s Maya, a skanky gangland security official with stripper hair and incredibly tight wardrobe that seems inconvenient when chasing ruthless criminals.

To make life even more interesting/ridiculous, M. Bison is given his own backstory: according to Gen, the Artist Formerly Played By a Dying Campy Raul Julia was an Irish orphan who grew up on the streets of Bangkock as a cruel thief, eventually taking a wife and going all Inside on her pregnant womb so as to transfer his conscience into his baby daughter. Said daughter grows up to be Russian and his one point of weakness. That is that.

Because the gods of bad cinema love me, we also get a few more exciting supporting players. Michael Clarke Duncan slums big time as Balrog, sad in that he really delivers no more punch than Grand L. Bush of the first Street Fighter film. In perhaps an homage to Kylie Minogue's awkward casting as Cammy, the Black Eyed Peas’ Taboo (in all honesty, I didn't know who this was until IMDB gave me the hint) plays the masked and clawed Vega. 

Kreuk is surprisingly passable as Chun Li, believable in her action scenes and offensively Americanized in her not-that-Asianness (then again, even the 14-year-old me knew there was something odd about the Genesis version having strawberry blond hair). Overall, however, Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun Li is  frustratingly snobbish, especially once you hear the stunning levels of importance bestowed upon it in a cast and crew commentary. You get the sense that Bartkowiak decided to avoid any semblance that would remind modern viewers of the goofy charm of Steven de Souza’s 1994 version and as a result, ended up with a silly, slightly pretentious action film that simply isn’t good enough to wow anyone.

High Points

I won't fault some of the fight sequences, which are rather elegantly choreographed (sometimes)

Low Points

Well. You know. The movie.

Draw

Chris Klein is, and I say this with no hesitation whatsoever, a horrid horrid actor. And yet as Nash (! Interpol!), he’s rather fascinating to watch and hear. Just how bad CAN he get? It’s a question that’s enough to keep you watching the movie so I guess, fool’s gold star to him?

Lessons Learned

If your forehead is larger than Tyra Banks' after being stung by a bee, perhaps you should not sport such flat and greasy hair. It does your features no favors, honey

Perhaps nameless actor could learn something here: Living on the streets of Bangkok with no resources will ensure your mane stays gloriously shiny

Always pack a bottle of water when embarking on a stakeout. You might get thirsty

When staging a huge police ambush, bulletproof vests are optional and not encouraged if you think it might make your leatherwear less sexy

Rent/Bury/Buy

For an awful movie, Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun Li is a pretty packed DVD. Several featurettes are quite self-congratulating, and a commentary offers the magnanimous wisdom of the filmmakers in casing Kruek because they were looking for an actress with "an Asian feel." That being said, one shouldn't pay more than the price of an imitation Reeses Peanut Butter Cup to watch it. The movie is awful, but somewhat likably so. Somewhat. Not really. 

Nash. Out!

What What?

What do Yoda, backyard abortions, the final scene of Pontypool, and why my dear friend Erica should never have sex with Channing Tatum have in common? All get referenced in a very special bonus TriloGleeKast , now available for free download on iTunes.

Oh yeah. And tomorrow I’ll talk about genre movies and stuff. 

Doll Face Meme!

So I'm a woman of a few talents (surviving bad cinema, badminton, Boggle) but like any mere mortal, certain skills elude me. Organization. Social planning. Planning. Planning socialism, you get the idea.

For instance, I announced a contest several months back which still excites me, and yet I've yet to select a winner. What this means is 1) I will do so this weekend and 2) Said winner will receive a special "I'm sorry I'm a procrastinating poophead prize," fear not, not comprised of poop. This also means I will start reviewing the recommended films with intros from the lovely and daring souls who entered.

Also, it's social blogging season and like most times of year, I rarely seem to be 'wid it.' I've had half a Billy Loves Stu  inspired meme sitting in my draft box for a month, 9 entries into my Horror Digest  honored Willies, and terribly lax thank yous for Versatile Blogging. 

But finally, I found a trend I can easily hop onto! No, not Bandz or street dancing (well, kind of street dancing...hint hint bonus episode of the GleeKast coming at you in 3D!) but the Screen Grab Meme Spectacular bestowed upon me by none other than the baton-twirling BJ-C of Day of the Woman .  Bloggers are ordered to grab a few images with one unifying theme. Now I combed through my globby brain for days trying to figure out what would be appropriate before finally bashing my own noggin with a frying pan for overlooking the obvious.

Starting with The Godfather of Dollinema...

whose name need not be said

Baby Oopsy Daisy, Demonic Toys

Dolly Dearest, Chucky's first true love

Cowboy Curtis (I'm guessing), from Stuart Gordon's Dolls

My Cheat (not screen grab of cinema)

Billy Baloney, Pee-Wee Herman's naughty friend. True story: despite my doll phobia, this thing lived in my house all through my childhood. As recently as three years ago, my mother kept it on top of the refrigerator and would occasionally bring it to the dinner table with the prime aim of making me uncomfortable.

Dream Warriors Got No Strings!

One of the eeriest (if memory serves) PG-Rated films of all time, Roland Emmerich's (yes, that Roland Emmerich) Joey, aka Making Contact

Further proof that all dummies are evil: Anthony Hopkins and Fats, Magic 

May and Suzy

The soon-to-be-Criterioned Night of the Hunter

It takes a bad man to combine clowns with dolls. 

Steven Spielberg, I see your true soul.

Blade, the respectable leader of the Puppet Master series

Mannequins = Dolls all grown up.

Mannequins=me crying in the corner

Tourist Trap 

An underrated anthology classic, Tales From the Hood

And we conclude with the question that's plagued mankind throughout the ages:

How'd it get buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurned?

I was supposed to use this space to tag fellow bloggers to make them work, but how can I focus on choosing who to assign Googling to when the best YouTube compilation of all time is screaming at me?

And one day, you too shall be a great witchhunter!

Ever watch a film that in no way embodies its reputation? You see a title like “Mark of the Devil,” spot Udo Kier in the cast, and knowingly eye the cover art featuring a pretty blond having her tongue cut out. Internet research reveals this was advertised with a William Castle-ish campaign complete with complimentary barf bags with every ticket purchase. If you’re like me, you pretty much assume the next 90 minutes will be spent with cheap period costumed bosoms, lots of burnings at the stake and eventually, silly dallyings with Satan himself.

You know what they say about assuming.

Quick Plot: In the 18th century (or so), priestly witch hunters devote their lives (or more fittingly, the lives of a whole lot of unlucky villagers) to purging the lands of the devil, mostly by imprisoning random citizens and inflicting ungodly methods of torture until they nod blankly at the suggestion of working for the devil, only to then be beheaded in front of TV-less townspeople who love a good show. 

This particular cleansing occurs in a regular old European town ruled by Albino, a scarred and cruel man who resembles a period-era Geoffrey Rush after being left out in the sun for too long. Like most witch hunters, Albino uses his power to randomly execute locals to suit his needs, even having the jerkitude to accuse a nice young bar wench for spurning his oily advances. Things seem to look brighter at the arrival of Lord Cumberland, the world’s most revered and feared enemy of Satan, and his fluffy assistant (Udo Kier! dubbed). 

Too bad ‘better’ lasts as far as slapping the smarm out of Albino before then returning to even crueler methods of torture.

Although nun tongues are severed, limbs stretched, and bodies burned at the stake, Mark of the Devil is hardly trashy exploitation. The production values are top notch, with gorgeous cinematography that paints a postcard-like landscape and kinetic camerawork that plays with perspective. A few background searches (plus gloriously Kierish special features) reveal a rather tumultuous filming process, with a director replacement and constant script revisions. Am I crazy for not seeing this?

What I’m trying to say is Mark of the Devil is a genuinely fine film. Hammer quality history with more discipline and patience, plus the rather nihilistic nerve to end in a frustrating, yet fitting way that defies your general expectations. 

High Points

In a film seeped with seriousness, a side story involving confused executioners and impressive marionettes is a hilarious and welcome diversion

Have there ever been such memorable faces sharing the screen as the executioner and indictment writer? These mugs could make roses wilt

Low Points

For a movie that wore its grisliness on a promotional barf bag, the final revolt is disappointingly tame

Lessons Learned

Rabbits don’t eat meat, but they do make fairly adorable marionettes

In order to avoid being accused of mating with Satan, avoid being rich, pretty, or good with puppets

In the 18th century, the only cure for impotence was rape

Rent/Bury/Buy

Perhaps my expectations were simply in the minor leagues, but Mark of the Devil felt like a genuine all-star film, odd considering its troubled history, dual directorship and dubbed awkwardness. Some of the camerawork is truly innovative and the story keeps you intrigued throughout the brisk 100 minute running time. Blue Underground put out a top notch DVD complete with a very frank commentary and a basketful of interviews with the cast (including a hilarious Udo Kier). It’s an easy rental with possible buy potential.

The End of an Era

Back before a little birdemic known as Twitter captured our short attention spans, many of the bloggers, podcasters and readers I now converse with more than my lifelong imaginary friends met at a busy little hangout known as Pop Syndicate. An entertainment site with a specialty for cult cinema, Pop Syndicate hosted some of the best podcasts and movie discussion on the Internet.

Founded by the almighty Bionicaster Stefan Halley, Pop Syndicate was, in many ways, that awesomely oversocial friend who seems to know everyone and insists you do too. I discovered it when I was living in Moscow as a lonely non-Russian speaking ESL teacher craving some movie talk and magically rewarded with multiple forums. Through those boards, I found dozens of fantastic podcasts, some fine film and tv blogs, and most importantly, a family of real-life and long distance like-minded individuals who share not just a love of cinema, but also a genuine and unique friendship.

I decided to write for Pop Syndicate a few months after I started the Deadly Doll's House, the goal being to make it something of a weekend getaway for different kinds of posts. It was an incredibly rewarding challenge that let me experiment with my style, learn a little more about Internet posting, and get more eyes reading my work. Similarly, when Erica and I started the GleeKast, we were deeply honored when Stefan offered us a message board and invitation to the podcasting family.

Things change. The Sci-Fi Channel went SyFy. The NY Public Library raised the overdue DVD charge to $3 a day. Starbucks ended the "The Way I See It" anecdotes on their cups that gave my life so much excitement and vital wisdom. Thus is the way of an everchanging world.

As many of you already know (especially if you listened to Outside the Cinema's live show last week, which I recommend), Pop Syndicate is now under new management and as a result, the direction of the site has changed considerably. It happens. I was hesitantly planning to continue contributing to Pop Syndicate and was eager to revive the sadly erased forums, but the site is now moving away from the things that made it so dear to me. No more podcasts, no more message boards. It's simply something else.

So in short, I will no longer be writing posts for the new Pop Syndicate, especially as I simply don't have much of a reason to frequent the site now that the things and people I loved about it are gone. I don't mean to sound overly critical, as my experience (compared to many of my PS peers) was not necessarily negative. I wrote a post last week, which was published without any issue. In terms of their new written content, I've been enjoying the work so far and think there are some great voices at the relaunched site. I'm not urging a boycott or discouraging any visits to the new site.

Unfortunately, it stinks rather unpleasantly that as of now, all past posts--by myself and all the other contributors--no longer exist. This means that any links to these blogs and reviews are dead (someone tell Google, which still lists them ahead of my own blog when you search Emily Intravia). Thankfully, all my original content still exits inside Mr. Mac, and to try to clean up some of my past posts, I will now be re-adding them right here on a weekly or so basis. Apologies in advance if you think I'm just going all lazy clip show on you as readers. I'm simply proud of some of the work that was lost and don't really just want to keep it packed in virtual storage.

As far as the forums go, a bigger better solution is slowly brewing inside the dangerous minds of fellow podcasters, one that I'm genuinely excited about. In the meantime, there are a few alternatives listed on my side bar and active Facebook pages for some of the podcasts, including Outside the Cinema and the Gentlemen's Guide to Midnite Cinema . 


Ultimately, new stuff is coming and life is good. Updates will be forthcoming. Until then, let's do as Marge S and just forget our troubles with a big bowl of strawberry ice cream.

Hey, Have You Heard About This New Internet Thing? The Makers of this movie kind of have...

Actors appearing in this movie have also starred in such films as:

...and a whole lot of daytime television

Surely this will be a watchable 90 minutes of my life, you say.

Oh dear readers. See what happens when you call me Shirley? 

Quick Plot: We start with an affair gone mysteriously wrong when a man’s lovemaking to a faceless blond is interrupted by his wife and, off camera, a gunshot. Cut to 10 months later when now faced blond Sandra (Terri Colombino, a sort of first draft version of Kristen Bell) is moving into a new apartment headed by a cheerfully nosy landlady named Christine.

Cheerfully nosy landladies are great for exposition, see, because they allow our protagonist to explain all the makings of the Internet or, as Sandra and several other characters like to say, their very own Cyber World*. Through Sandra’s own FaceSpace page (yes...FaceSpace), we meet an online chat room community who gather weekly to play some never quite laid out trivia game in order to win movie memorabilia. Among the members are:

• Sandra, who goes by the oh-so-annoying moniker SassyPlanner 

• William Forsythe as an inexplicable chick magnet literary professor

Sexxxxxxxy

• Body Snatchers (and ice skating girlfriend of Brandon Walsh in Season 1 of 90210) as a scarred ex-model (I think) with lawyer troubles (primarily because her lawyer is played by a possibly sedated Billy Dee Williams)

• a bitter young lesbian mourning the death of her lover by spilling her guts out to a very weary Charles Durning as a tea-drinking therapist

•  Mark (played by the original Angel in Broadway’s Rent) a flamboyant special effects artist with a cat that bares a chilling resemblance to my own

• and a single mom sex phone operator

Also, a pair of mismatched FBI agents (including a barely audible Tony Todd) are investigating something or other which eventually leads them to suspect perky Sandra of masterminding a complex murder ring of sorts. This gets extra complicated (wait...the entire movie is already harder to understand than calculus) when Sandra falls for her generally rude neighbor Joe, whose sister conveniently enough is the busty agent heading the investigation. 

Perhaps the not-quite-explained connecting threads of all the characters is some sort of statement on the 6 Degrees of Separation quality that pervades cyberspace. Or perhaps the writers simply decided plotting would be easier if everybody had something in common, whether such a choice made any sense or not. Either way, iMurders contains far too many characters, far too many storylines, and far too few moments of any tension. A twist ending is mildly amusing enough (even if I did call it), but that doesn’t really add much merit when the film had taken us out of the main mystery with an extended subplot regarding Forsythe’s infidelity and career woes.

Oh! And did I mention the 3 minute scene wherein a janitor kind of hits on a young blond, who kind of rebukes him to discuss knowledge, which he kind of seems into? 

Trust me, I just made more sense than the entire film itself.

High Points

The ambitions of the mystery, which include about three major red herrings, are admirable enough...

Low Points

...though it’s a shame that a) they don’t all add up and b) none are actually interesting

Lessons Learned

The FBI has a very loose dress code that encourages cleavage display. This is especially convenient when you’re about 2 feet taller than your well-endowed partner

It’s hard to put the milk back in the carton when you’ve already had the cereal. And that makes some sort of statement on having an affair, I think

When attending an esteemed dinner of academics, the best possible accessory you can carry with your tux is a manilla envelope that contains blackmailing material

One should avoid smiling so cheerfully when giving a news report about a single mother found brutally murdered

The Winning Line

Cinemax Lesbian #1: “I love you.” 

Cinemax Lesbian #2: “I know”

Does quoting The Empire Strikes Back make iMurders awful, amazing, or smart enough to round up a second form of linkage on imdb?

Rent/Bury/Buy

Thankfully, iMurders is on Netflix’s Instant Watch which allows for a guilt-free viewing by only the truly self-hating film fans out there. This is not a good movie. To some extent, it has a so-weirdly-awful-that-you-might-be-tempted-to-try-it kind of vibe, but I discourage most of you out there to waste too much time attempting to untie the knots of logic put forth by the writing in this movie. In the end, you’ll probably have more fun logging onto your own FaceSpace page to play Boggle or snarkily enjoy the fact that your old enemy from high school is now fat. Weigh your priorities with care.

*As you might guess, I spend a fair amount of time online and am happily engaged in supportive and rewarding Internet communities. Of the many other users I know, I’ve never heard a single one refer to such a place as Cyber World. Am I missing out on hip new lingo, or is this one more example of how writers Robbie Bryan and Ken Del Vecchio have never actually logged on?