The Not-So-New 52: Justice League – Warworld (2023)

Welcome to The Not-So-New 52, your digital Swampflix comic book (adaptation) newsstand! Starting in 2007, DC Comics and Warner Premiere entered the direct-to-home-video market with animated features, mostly in the form of adaptations of well-received event comics or notable arcs. This Swampflix feature takes its name from the 2011 DC relaunch event “The New 52,” and since there are (roughly) fifty-two of these animated features as of the start of 2024, Boomer is watching them in order from the beginning with weekly reviews of each. So, get out your longboxes and mylar sleeves and get ready for weekly doses of grousing, praise, befuddlement, recommendations, and occasional onomatopoeia as we get animated for over fifteen years of not-so-new comic cartoons.

I completely forgot that Justice League: Warworld existed, despite the fact that, according to my viewing history on the app formerly known as HBO, I sat through it at some point in the year since its release (or, more likely, I put it on while I was doing housework and then took a nap). Don’t let that fool you, though, as it’s not my resentment about realizing that there was still yet another one of these movies before the coming “crisis” that led to the low score for this one; it’s one of the most forgettable, despite being one of the more original of these flicks. 

We open in the Old West, where a lady gunslinger arrives in a town that has barricaded its funds inside the town bank, to protect it from an outlaw Jonah Hex and his crew, who claim that they are owed their “protection interest” by the miners who reside within. The woman is more trusting of the townsfolks’ representative, Bartholomew “Bat” Lash. She ends up defending the town from the bandits, including derailing a train that was sent barreling toward the town’s fortifications. When Hex kills Lash, she almost beats the former to death, before riding off into the dawn, her name still unknown. From there, we find ourselves on the world of Skartaris, a very Edgar Rice Burroughs sword-and-sorcery jungle planet, where a man named Warlord captures a mercenary sent by his enemy, the dark wizard Deimos. The mercenary offers to reveal Deimos’s hideout to Warlord, but the latter man insists that the mercenary accompany them, and once Deimos is dead, he will reward the mercenary with his freedom and his weight in gold. Warlord’s little Masters of the Universe-style team gets picked off one by one until only he and the mercenary are the only ones to arrive in Deimos’s loot cave, where they also find a familiar woman chained to his throne. They ultimately manage to kill Deimos, and the mercenary and the now-freed warrior woman share a look of recognition as a portal opens, and they enter it. From here, we find ourselves in what is, for all intents and purposes, a pastiche of the Twilight Zone classic “Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up?”, where an “Agent Kent” meets his new partner, King Faraday, at a diner where a group of bus travelers have gathered after seeing a supposed UFO crash. They’re assisted by highway patrolman Bruce Wayne, and among the diner patrons is a woman who identifies herself as “Ms. Prince.” Of course, nothing is what it seems. 

Warworld really suffers from being viewed so closely after I marathoned all of the DC Showcase Shorts. Although they weren’t all perfect, most of them were very effective as exactly the kind of vignettes that this film is seeking to achieve (albeit while making them fictional “mindscapes” in which our heroes are trapped), and failing. The western segment fails to achieve the atmosphere of the Jonah Hex short, and is a fairly rote “protect the townspeople” narrative that offers no genuine excitement. The “savage land” section is a pale imitation of the Kamandi short, and there’s nothing all that interesting about “What if Batman was a mercenary on a strange world?,” since it’s just another retread of tropes you’ve seen done before, and better. The black & white alien paranoia bit is the most intriguing experiment that the film does, and it turns into a pretty rote retreading of all the tropes associated with that genre before speeding right past it into the realization on the part of Clark, Bruce, and Diana that they’ve been forced to play out scenarios by an alien known as Mongul, who has harnessed the psychic powers of Martian Manhunter to do so. The three manage to escape from their psychic prisons, get out into the large “war world” planet-killing ship, and blow it up, before being saved by an unknown woman who tells them that they will be needed “for the coming crisis,” and then it’s credits time. 

I spent most of the movie assuming that the Wonder Woman whom we were following was a version of the character that we had not yet seen, since the only Wonder Woman appearance prior to this in this new “Tomorrowverse” sub-franchise was the one from the alternate dimension in the Justice Society movie; as a result, I kept asking why I was supposed to care about this character when we had never seen her before. As it turns out, this is that Wonder Woman, which is revealed when she recognizes Superman as Clark, but as a younger version of him than the man she knows. It’s needlessly complicated, and the narrative decisions on display only make sense when looking at this not as a film unto itself, but as a placeholder and teaser for the upcoming Crisis film. It’s not interesting, it’s not exciting, it’s not fun, and exists solely for the least interesting reason for any piece of art to exist: filler sequel bait. 

-Mark “Boomer” Redmond

Kiss of Death (1947)

Usually, when a classic-period noir is singled out for praise, it’s because it’s lean, rapid-fire machine gun entertainment – a high-style, high-energy crime picture achieved on a low-rent budget.  1947’s Kiss of Death has none of those qualities.  After opening on a botched Christmas Eve jewel heist in a tense, largely wordless sequence, the film’s urge to entertain goes dark.  This is an oddly leisurely, somber noir about the jail-sweat struggles of one of those failed jewel thieves (played by the aptly named Victor Mature) as he’s pressured to rat on his accomplices who got away.  At first, he refuses to squeal, but threats against his family change his tune, and he reluctantly becomes an undercover rat helping cops bust the crime rings that used to supply his income, much to his personal shame.  Watching this family man squirm under police pressure in his jail cell is far from the perverse sex-and-violence pleasures audiences usually seek in classic noir, so most of Kiss of Death ends up feeling limp in its genre payoffs.  It’s still worthy of all its praise & attention, though, thanks to a maniac villain by the name of Tommy Udo.

Richard Windmark’s performance as the sad-sack squealer’s charismatic, villainous foil heroically brings Kiss of Death back to life after the much more reserved Victor Mature drowns it in moralistic tedium.  Windmark’s infamous gangster Tommy Udo is a murderous sociopath whom the D.A. wants the jewel thief to snitch on as a fellow convict, but he proves too dangerous to be around, even for a minute.  Windmark is such an energizing lunatic in the role that he earned an unlikely Oscar nomination for it, presumably for being the only sign of life in an otherwise plodding picture.  Along with the likes of James Cagney, Peter Lorre, and Ann Savage, he gives one of the all-time great unhinged noir-villain performances, often credited alongside Conrad Veidt in The Man Who Laughs for inspiring the look & persona of The Joker.  When a cop asks Udo if he has a minute to talk, he spits back “I wouldn’t give you the skin off a grape.”  He condescendingly refers to his fellow gangsters by the uniform nickname “Squirt.”  He pushes wheelchair-using biddies down the stairs just for rubbing him the wrong way.  He is the entertaining volatility that most noirs exude in their filmmaking personified in a single movie-stealing character.

Besides the dark, revitalizing energy of Windmark’s performance, Kiss of Death is most commendable for its early use of location shooting around 1940s New York City, including prison scenes shot at Sing Sing.  Shooting outside of a Los Angeles studio lot was atypical for a small-scale crime picture at the time, which you can tell as soon as an opening-credits title card brags about the novelty.  It’s also unusual for a noir of this kind to be narrated by the doomed antihero’s love interest (and, weirdly, his kids’ former babysitter, played by Colleen Gray), but I can’t say her voice adds as much interest or texture to the picture as the location shooting, except maybe in softening the genre’s macho tendencies.  Otherwise, Hollywood workman director Henry Hathaway (True Grit, Niagara, Call Northside 777) brings a controlled, level-headed approach to the production that keeps it from achieving anything especially flashy or memorable within its genre template.  Only Tommy Udo breaks through that containment of Old Hollywood professionalism, transforming a cozy afternoon watch into a momentarily thrilling freak show.  He is the spectacle worth seeking out here, the only reason the film is remembered at all.

-Brandon Ledet

Podcast #228: Frankie Freako (2024) & Gremlinsploitation

Welcome to Episode #228 of The Swampflix Podcast. For this episode, Brandon is joined by Pete Moran of the We Love to Watch podcast to discuss the retro horror comedy Frankie Freako (2024) and the late-80s wave of Gremlins knockoffs that inspired it.

00:00 Welcome

06:50 Frankie Freako

26:06 Ghoulies
48:25 Critters
56:45 Trolls
1:09:18 Munchies
1:23:14 Beasties
1:28:22 Hobgoblins

You can stay up to date with our podcast through SoundCloudSpotifyiTunesTuneIn, or by following the links on this page.

– The Podcast Crew

Wicked (2024)

In our recent podcast episode about Sirocco and the Kingdom of the Winds, Brandon mentioned having seen (and not enjoyed) Wicked. I had previously shared that, when this film was over, I turned to my viewing companion and said, “I have a confession to make. I thought I was going to hate this,” but admitted that I had, in fact, loved it. The Wizard of Oz is one of the first movies that I can ever remember seeing, and I had a secondhand walkman that the red cassette of Oz songs basically lived inside of for years. I loved the books, reading them repeatedly (my favorite characters were Tik Tok and The Hungry Tiger, whose tormented existence torn between desire and moral conviction probably spoke to me at a deeper level, even at that young age). We named one of our chickens Billina and I even spent an entire summer saving my chore money toward a layaway copy of the much-maligned SNES Wizard video game. (The only other person I have ever met with any memory of the game, my friend Eric, also admitted he had never been able to beat it. About five years ago, we got together to watch a playthrough of it on YouTube and were shocked to discover that, of about 110 minutes of gameplay, neither of us had ever gotten past the first 25 minutes, which is where we inevitably died. It was just that hard.) I read Gregory Maguire’s Wicked in the summer between undergrad and grad school, and while I didn’t love it, I didn’t think it was bad, just that I preferred to imagine Oz as I had when I was a child. But after so many bad Oz movies and series over the years (especially Oz the Great and Powerful), I didn’t expect that I would fall into the magic of a movie that had so much negative press surrounding its visual style, especially since a musical is already kind of a hard sell for me. I was mostly there for the Jonathan Bailey of it all (since Broadchurch, if you’re keeping score at home). 

Wicked (Part 1, as everyone suspected) is about Elphaba Thropp (Cynthia Erivo), a woman from Munchkinland who, as the result of some magical hanky-panky in the middle of some extramarital hanky-panky, was born with green skin. This makes her an ostracized outsider among the Munchkins and leaves her the less-favored daughter of her widowed father, who dotes upon her paraplegic younger sister Nessarose (Marissa Bode). Nessarose is accepted to attend Oz’s Shiz University, and although Elphaba is not a prospective student, her accidental use of real magic in the presence of Madame Morrible (Michelle Yeoh) leads her to being invited to attend, under direct tutelage of Morrible, on the spot. As the result of a misunderstanding, Elphaba is set up to room with Galinda (Ariana Grande), the prettiest, most popular girl in all of Oz, although Elphaba ends up shoved into a small corner of their shared lodgings as a result of Galinda’s extensive pink wardrobe. Initial conflict between the two leads to Elphaba’s further isolation at school, and it is further exacerbated with the arrival of Prince Fiyero from Winkieland, whose devil-may-care attitude and carpe diem approach to academics, love, and life in general. Fiyero and Elphaba meet before he arrives at the school, and he is charmed by her lack of deference to either his royal title (of which she is ignorant) or his stunning good looks (which she cannot help but notice). However, upon arrival at the school, Galinda immediately gloms onto him and he accepts and reciprocates the attention, attempting to get the entire student body to reject the boredom of academia in favor of vice and fun, much to Elphaba’s annoyance. Meanwhile, there is an undercurrent of fascism and racism at Shiz U, as the once-diverse teaching body of the university has been whittled down to have only one remaining talking Animal instructor, the goat Dr. Dillamond (Peter Dinklage), who is the person willing to befriend Elphaba. Galinda and Elphaba eventually reconcile when, after a particularly cruel prank, Galinda learns that Elphaba has done something genuinely kind and meaningful in helping Galinda pursue her greatest ambitions; Galinda then makes it her project to rehabilitate Elphaba’s public image and make her, as the song says, popular. When Elphaba at last receives an invite to come to the Emerald City and meet The Wizard (Jeff Goldblum), she chooses instead to argue on behalf of the plight of the Animals rather than ask him to cure her of her green skin, setting events into motion that change the destinies of everyone involved. 

I’ve long been known to be a musical-averse person, but I’m coming around. After having seen recorded versions of Sweeney Todd (the one with Angela Lansbury) and Phantom of the Opera (the 25th anniversary production) this year, I’m more open to them than I once was, and it’s no secret that Wicked is one of the biggest and most widely acclaimed ones of all time. I can’t really speak to this one as an adaptation, but I really enjoyed it. I didn’t love every song (“Dancing Through Life” is acceptable as a bit of exposition/character development, but it’s very boring to me, and if it didn’t have Jonathan Bailey dancing through it, I wouldn’t work at all), but I thoroughly enjoyed most of them, and some are real standouts. Erivo’s voice is fantastic, and in some behind-the-scenes footage she’s singing live in several scenes that show that the magic is coming from her and not from any studio enhancements. She’s entrancing here as Elphaba, and I see so much of people I’ve known and loved in her performance that she completely won me over. I’ve also never been all that interested in Ariana Grande; she came along after I had already long graduated from the age group that she’s aimed at. I was of the generation whose adolescent-aimed-cable-channel-musical-industrial-complex products were Raven and Hillary Duff, so Grande’s rise from that same metaphorical farm league came long after I was among the target demographic. She’s quite fun here, and separates herself from the others on the same career path with a lot of genuine charm and a willingness to commit to the bit that’s quite admirable. 

As for most people’s complaints about the film and its visual style, I have to admit that I didn’t mind it. It would have been nice to have the film try to replicate the Technicolor-sais quoi of the MGM classic, but there’s still a lot to love here in the designs and the details. The costuming is fantastic, and at no point did I think that Oz looked boring or colorless, except in moments in which there’s an intentionality to the blandness that I find appropriate. This one left me feeling elevated and effervescent, and I loved that, even if what we’re watching is the real time character assassination of our protagonist at the hands of an evil government. What more could one really ask for?

-Mark “Boomer” Redmond

Evil Does Not Exist (2024)

My number one movie of last year, La vaca que cantó una canción hacia el futuro, was advertised at my local arthouse theater with a quote calling the film an “eco-fable,” a term I had theretofore been unfamiliar with. When Aku wa Sonzai Shinai, or Evil Does Not Exist, was advertised at the same earlier this year, there was another quote in their trailer referring to it using the same neogenre epithet. I was excited by this, but missed the window in which it was playing and had to wait for other means to view it to come around. 

The film primarily concerns a widower named Takumi (Hitoshi Omika), who lives in the rural mountain village of Mizubiki, with his daughter, Hana. Takumi is a vital member of the community as a performer of local odd jobs, like collecting and transporting water directly from a mountain stream to a cafe in town that is noted for its exceptional udon. He lives in a state of constant distraction caused by the grief of the loss of his wife, not necessarily reliable but relied upon, with the fact that he often forgets to pick his daughter up from school being established early on. Two representatives from a glamping development project that is set to begin construction near Mizubiki arrive in town from Tokyo, and a polite-but-tense interaction ensues. Initially, the male representative, Takahashi (Ryuji Kosaka), comes off as condescending while his partner Mayuzumi (Ayaka Shibutani) is more receptive to the locals’ concerns. These include but are not limited to: the placement of the glamping site’s septic tank will result in runoff that will enter the water table for the village, that the location is part of the migration area of local deer, that the lack of 24-hour on-site management opens up the possibility of guests starting campfires that result in major forest fires. By the end, even Takahashi recognizes that the concerns of the villagers are far from trivial, but his and Mayuzumi’s efforts to have all issues addressed are rebuffed by their upper management in Tokyo, who concede on the issue of 24-hour support but not moving the septic tank, and who recommend hiring Takumi to act as the caretaker of the site. As he and Mayuzumi return to Mizubiki to discuss this with Takumi, Takahashi confesses that he’s grown tired of this, as he entered the industry as an entertainment agent and feels that his work has moved him into places that he finds morally questionable and for which he is largely unsuited; he’s even considering applying for the caretaker position himself. He can barely keep from repeating this to Takumi shortly after they arrive, and the local man takes the two on his rounds, before realizing that he’s forgotten to pick up his daughter from school yet again, although this time, she’s not home when he gets there. 

The title is incorrect, of course. Evil does exist, it simply rarely announces itself and is good at obfuscation. When Takahashi and Mayuzumi’s boss refuses to consider the possibility of finding some other way to address the septic tank issue at the proposed glamping site, he does so with a tense and polite smile that demonstrates that he’s only willing to concede on the issue of having a caretaker because it’s possible to do it without any additional funding. He says that they’ll just have to cut overall staff. On the issue of making sure that the precise natural resource that forms the most delicate, intricate part of the experience that the company is selling is threatened, he is unmovable. Comically underscoring his point, he presents as evidence a “stocks go up” style graph that says merely that the glamping industry exists and is profitable. None of this is seen by him as “evil,” merely as him fulfilling his position in a capitalist hierarchy. Nonetheless, each of his decisions has a direct effect on the health of a village of people “downstream.” That is the nature of evil, that it’s all a series of selfish decisions that each person justifies to oneself, snowballing downhill and getting larger and more harmful as it goes. No person’s individual choices are evil in their own hearts, but it does exist. 

Unfortunately, this film lacks the clarity and cohesion of La vaca que cantó. That film dove hard into its magical realism, while this one is straightforwardly realistic, at least until its final minutes, which are narratively ambiguous to the point of potential frustration. I have a feeling that most people will be turned off by the film’s pace, which one could describe as “meditative” or “glacial,” depending upon how much patience you’re willing to lend it. Evil Does Not Exist spends a lot of time in observation of the peaceful stillness of its setting, as it is filled with long and loving shots of people travelling through the picturesque beauty of the forests and mountains that fill virtually every frame of the film. To be frank, I found this one taxing my patience, and I have a lot more patience for these kinds of slow, sprawling pastorals than most. It could be argued that it’s a necessary part of the package for interpretation of this as a text, but the parts of the film in which something does happen are electric, even when it’s something that’s as objectively uninteresting as a town hall meeting in which no one ever raises their voice. I can see what’s being done here, by making the banality of real estate development and the resultant community conflict more interesting by juxtaposing it against a landscape which is beautiful but also harsh and empty – that is, not in the least bit escapist. However, that doesn’t make the movie a more enjoyable experience for me. 

What I did like was the density of the narrative that exists. When we first meet Takahashi, he seems like just another stuffed shirt who’s been sent solely in order to make it appear that his employing corporation checked all the boxes needed to get nominal approval from the local community. And that’s exactly what he is, but he does soften up a bit after hearing from the people of Mizubiki. Unfortunately, he learns exactly the wrong thing from this, as he immediately thinks that he would be best suited for the caretaker position, and he’s exhilarated and energized when Takumi allows him to chop a single log and assist with the collection of springwater for the udon restaurant. Earlier in the film, one of the local women asks for a clarification on what “glamping” is, and settles for the definition that the new development will be a “camping themed hotel.” Takahashi, despite rejecting his company because of their treatment of the people of the village, completely buys into the exact thing that they are selling. That’s one of the more interesting insights that the movie plays with. One of my other favorite moments is when Takumi refers to his grandparents as “settlers,” and notes that even the people who already reside there are responsible for “deform[ing]” the nature that exists there to some extent. The issue is not so straightforward as “glamping bad,” but that there’s no action without reaction. I like all of that quite a lot. Unfortunately, I just can’t find it in my heart to love this one as much as I wish I did. I see why it is the way that it is, but I just can’t bring myself to love it.

-Mark “Boomer” Redmond

Quick Takes: Second-Hand Kung Fu

There are currently 8,867 films on my Letterboxd watchlist, and roughly 8,000 of them will remain unwatched for all eternity.  Every time a movie looks interesting to me, I toss it into the bottomless watchpit, with no concrete plans to dig it up at any particular time.  Either it’ll tumble out of the Shuffle button at the exact right moment or it will rot there forever, and I think that’s beautiful.  What I’m much more dutiful about it is my physical media watchpile, which fits neatly into one humble box besides my television that I’m not “allowed” to let overfill before bringing home more discs.  Having a physical Blu-ray or DVD in my home is a guarantee that a movie will be watched—soon!—if not only because it then enables me to buy more Blu-rays & DVDs.  The watchbox has been getting a little tight lately, though, so it’s time to clear out a few lingering titles with some short-form reviews. 

I’ve been having especially good luck finding used martial-arts DVDs at local thrift stores this year, so that feels like as good of a category to start this KonMari process with as any.  Listed & reviewed below are four kung fu action flicks I purchased on used DVDs at two local Goodwill stores in 2024 (the one on Tulane Ave in MidCity and the new outlet “bins” location in New Orleans East, in case you’re on the hunt).  They all roughly follow the same story template in which a young fighter is violently wronged, trains for violent revenge, and then takes that revenge against his oppressors in violent spectacle.  Their individual emphases on the wronging, the training, and the avenging vary from film to film, though, as does their entertainment value as vintage martial-arts relics. 

The 36th Chamber of Shaolin (1978)

By far, the best of this batch is the Shaw Brothers classic The 36th Chamber of Shaolin, which mostly focuses on the training aspect of the kung-fu story template.  While most kung-fu revengers include a martial-arts training montage in which a young fighter is taught fighting skills & Buddhist philosophy in a temple of violence, The 36th Chamber expands that 2nd-act rebirth to stretch over the majority of its runtime.  Gordon Liu plays a young student whose schoolmates & teacher are slaughtered by a fascistic government who sees them as a rebellious threat.  He retreats to a Shaolin temple to learn how to fight back against those government brutes and is reluctantly trained by the monks who live there to be a world-class combatant.  Most of the film features Liu solving physically challenging puzzles while older monks nod in silent approval, and he grows frustrated to be learning discipline rather than vengeance.  His impatience eventually fades as he matures into becoming a deadly weapon of great wisdom, which is a gift he then vows to spread to the common man outside the temple so they can fight their oppressors in great numbers instead of as individual rebels.

I watched The 36th Chamber of Shaolin in its ideal format: a thrifted Dragon Dynasty-label DVD with a 10min RZA interview reminiscing about marathoning Golden Age martial-arts & porno schlock as a kid in late-70s NYC.  The film would be considered a classic of Hong Kong action cinema without RZA’s help, but his grindhouse cinephilia helped sew its name into the fabric of American culture, so that every time you hear the words “36th Chamber”, “Shaolin” or “Master Killer” (the film’s alternate American title), a Wu-Tang Clan beat automatically plays in your head.  It’s a little silly to include a 2min “Wu-Tang concert video” as an additional special feature, but there’s still some thematic overlap there in how the dozen people performing on stage at once have found strength in numbers that they wouldn’t wield as individual rappers.  In his interview, RZA attempts to contextualize why Hong Kong martial-arts films might have resonated so deeply with him as a young Black youth in America, citing “the underdog thing,” “the brotherhood thing,” and “the escapism” as resonant themes.  The truth is he more likely cited this classic so often in Wu-Tang lyrics simply because it looked & sounded cool.  Either way, he’s right.

The Iron Monkey (1977)

The title & thrills of the 1977 martial-arts revenger The Iron Monkey are so much more generic & forgettable than 36th Chamber‘s that it’s usually only brought up as a footnote to a much more popular 1993 film of the same name, to which it has no narrative relation.  Chen Kuan-tai directs and stars as a frivolous, drunken gambler with a rebel father who is—you guessed it—assassinated by a fascist government.  He cleans up his act at a Shaolin temple and trains for revenge, which he eventually gets hands-on against the General that killed his father at the movie’s climax.  Given the stark-white backdrop of its pop-art opening credits and its genre-dutiful training sequences you might suspect that it was a cheap knockoff of The 36th Chamber . . . until you realize that it was released an entire year earlier.

The Iron Monkey is a standard-issue kung-fu revenger with nothing especially noteworthy about it except that the violence occasionally goes way overboard, especially in the opening sequence where an actual monkey & eagle are forced to fight as symbols of the “Monkey Fist” vs. “Eagle Claw” combat choreography of its central hero & villain.  There’s also a scene where the bad guys show they mean business by choking a child to death, which makes for two pretty alarming choices on when to color outside the lines.  My used DVD copy was a digital scan of a dubbed & scratched film print, which feels indicative of its significance in the larger kung-fu landscape.  I couldn’t tell if the off-screen impact sounds of punches & kicks that are heard but not seen were added by an American distributor hoping to keep the audience’s pulse up or were included in the original mix as a cost-cutting ploy, but the choice was something I had never encountered in a movie before.  I’d rather indulge in that kind of novelty than watching a stressed-out monkey fight an eagle for my entertainment.

Return of the Tiger (1977)

Just because a martial arts film is cheap doesn’t mean it’s worthless.  I was much more enthused by the Brucesploitation novelty Return of Tiger, which starred “Bruce Li” as yet another wronged son avenging the murder of his father.  Supposedly a sequel to a film called Exit the Dragon, Enter the Tiger (which starred Li as an entirely different character), Return of the Tiger skips the hero’s training montage to instead detail the training of his enemies.  Bruce Li and “special guest star” Angela Mao show up ready to do battle, but their Enemy No. 1 (Paul L. Smith, Altman’s Bluto) is continuously training a kung-fu army of underlings to protect his empire.  As a result, the film has incredibly athletic martial arts sequences, but most of them are confined to the relatively drab setting of an Olympic training gym — including Li’s intro in the music video style opening credits.  Mao’s intro is also literally gymnastic, in that she initially fights off the gang leader’s nameless goons while jumping on a trampoline and launching herself off a balance beam.  As her special credit suggests, she steals the show.

While Return of the Tiger follows a familiar wronging-training-avenging story template, it does distinguish itself from the other films on this list in its contemporary setting.  The main Bad Guy in the film is not some empirical warlord of the 18th Century; he’s a heroin dealer who runs a shipyard.  My English-dub DVD copy (“digitally mastered” by the fine folks at Reel Entertainment in Digital, which cannot be a real company) not only overdubs the dialogue but also replaces the soundtrack with incredibly baffling song choices, including a nightclub scene set to Wild Cherry’s “Play that Funky Music” while a lounge singer mouths lyrics to an entirely different song.  It’s a nice change of setting for the genre, and the fights staged there are accomplished in their precision & brutality. 

The One-Armed Swordsman (1967)

The first-act wronging of The One-Armed Swordsman is two-fold, which doubles the amount of training sequences the film gets to indulge in.  First, a young child watches his father get slaughtered (go figure), then is raised by a kung-fu master to become the formidable Hong Kong action hero Jimmy Wang.  Only, the fellow students at his temple are jealous of his skills and spiteful of having to be equals with the son of a (dead) servant, so in an overboard schoolyard bullying incident they cut off his sword-carrying arm.  Wang survives, improbably, and then trains again to re-learn how to fight with just one arm before local bandits get out of hand and harm untrained villagers who need protection.  Despite this doubling down on its training-for-revenge sequences, much of the runtime involves debates between our titular hero and his wife about whether he should relearn his fighting skills at all, since it’s a like he’s inviting violence into the family home — like how gun owners are statistically more likely to be killed by guns.  The title & premise make it sound like a gimmicky wuxia novelty, but in practice it’s a surprisingly classy drama set inside of a series of illustrated postcards . . . with some occasional swordfight gore.

What I mostly learned from this loose group of titles is that the Dragon Dynasty-label DVDs of classic Shaw Brother titles are a sign of quality & class, and they’re worth picking up any time you stumble across one at a Goodwill.  The best special feature included on this particular disc was a short career-retrospective documentary on its director, Chang Cheh, which added at least a dozen titles to my ever-expanding Letterboxd watchlist.  I’ll likely never get to them all unless they fall into my lap as used media, where tangibility means accountability and quality varies wildly.

-Brandon Ledet

Lagniappe Podcast: Sirocco and the Kingdom of the Winds (2024)

For this lagniappe episode of The Swampflix Podcast, Boomer, Brandon, and Alli discuss the Belgian-French animated fantasy adventure Sirocco and the Kingdom of the Winds (2024).

00:00 SEFCA’s Top 10 Films of 2024

07:49 Strangers on a Train (1951)
13:13 Laufey’s A Night at the Symphony (2024)
19:46 The Not-So-New 52
24:05 My Neighbor Totoro (1988)
30:09 Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat (2024)
35:43 Nosferatu (2024)
40:14 Holding Back the Tide (2024)
43:45 Nickel Boys (2024)
48:50 Daaaaaalí! (2024)
52:04 Yannick (2024)
57:17 Wicked Part 1 (2024)
59:46 Flow (2024)

1:00:42 Sirocco and the Kingdom of the Winds (2024)

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– The Lagniappe Podcast Crew

The Not-So-New 52: Batman – The Doom That Came to Gotham (2023)

Welcome to The Not-So-New 52, your digital Swampflix comic book (adaptation) newsstand! Starting in 2007, DC Comics and Warner Premiere entered the direct-to-home-video market with animated features, mostly in the form of adaptations of well-received event comics or notable arcs. This Swampflix feature takes its name from the 2011 DC relaunch event “The New 52,” and since there are (roughly) fifty-two of these animated features as of the start of 2024, Boomer is watching them in order from the beginning with weekly reviews of each. So, get out your longboxes and mylar sleeves and get ready for weekly doses of grousing, praise, befuddlement, recommendations, and occasional onomatopoeia as we get animated for over fifteen years of not-so-new comic cartoons.

At long last, we have reached the final Batman film in this long saga. I don’t expect that this will be the last time we talk about him, as I have no doubt that he’ll play a part in the upcoming massive Crisis on Infinite Earths triple feature (pray for me), but this is the last time that it’s his name in the title, and that’s something to celebrate. This is another one of those Elseworlds style flicks—what if Batman, but H.P. Lovecraft? The answer is another adaptation of a comic by Mike Mignola, whose previous Gotham by Gaslight was adapted into a thoroughly mediocre animated feature that sanded off all of the grit from Mignola’s art. Will this one fare better?

This time, it’s the 1920s, and Gotham City’s most beloved orphan, Bruce Wayne (David Giuntoli), has spent the last two decades traveling hither and yon in the wake of his parents’ deaths. In Antarctica, he and his three assistants—Dick Grayson (Jason Marsden), Santay Tawde (Karan Brar), and Kai Li Cain (Tati Gabrielle)—are searching for the lost Cobblepot Expedition. They encounter undead members of the crew and manage to subdue one, named Grendon (David Dastmalchian), and return with him to Gotham City, not realizing that he was already infected by parasites from the otherworldly creature he was attempting to free from the ice when Wayne et al arrived. Thus begins the unraveling of a tangled web of interconnections between the founding families of Gotham and the Cult of Ghul that worships the elder, eldritch god Iog-Sotha, and need only the Testament of Ghul to allow him to cross the threshold into our world and do whatever it is that Cthulhu entities do. 

In addition to the above-mentioned group of onetime Robins whom Bruce collected on his voyages, there are, of course, other members of the same old usual suspects here. The “Cult of Ghul” tells you pretty early on that Ra’s and Talia are going to pop up and cause trouble at some point. Kirk Langstrom, who is normally a tragic villain known as the “Man-Bat,” is referred to as “the bat man of Crime Alley” before our title character really becomes a known element in the city. Here, instead of being transformed into a giant batlike man, he’s a mad scientist whose research into bats has led him to believe that they are speaking to him, a trait we ultimately learn he shares in common with Bruce. Jason Blood is also here, sometimes in his demon form as Etrigan, and it is he who starts Bruce on his road to learning the true horrors which lie beneath the surface of the rational world. Oliver Queen (Christopher Gorham) is made a Gotham resident here and the Queens are established as one of the founding families of the city, with OIiver using his family’s wealth to fund a one-man war on supernatural evil, while playacting as a booze-smuggling lush to keep his activities under wraps. There’s no Joker or Catwoman, but Harvey Dent is here reimagined as a candidate for mayor who becomes infected on one side of his body with a horrible rash that eventually breaks out in bumps and tumors which then spread onto a nearby wall to create a portal to Iog-Sotha’s realm. It sounds gross, and it is, but it also doesn’t really hold a candle to how revolting and frightening the demons in Justice League Dark and JLvTT were. 

This is one of the film’s bigger weaknesses: the inability for this animation to really convey the horror of the mythos that it’s adapting. It disgusts, but it never harrows. One could unironically call it the comic book-ification of Lovecraftian horror, except that actual comic book adaptations of that material often rise from actual artistic interest and which result in some truly glorious art, but not art that easily translates to the moving image, even if what we’re talking about is being “drawn” in both artforms. I’ll admit that it was an inspired choice to bring in Jeffrey Combs(!) to voice Kirk Langstrom via his apocalyptic log, but that desire to make connections to previous Lovecraft adaptations is the only real time that this feels like it’s trying. Everything that makes it special comes from the source material, which, like Gotham By Gaslight before it, means that this is just a diminished version of what it’s supposed to adapt, with no real improvements. It’s not a bad movie, but there’s something really lacking that would have pushed it into being something special. I’d rank it only slightly above average if for no other reason than that we get to see Bruce fully commit to turning into an eldritch bat monster in order to save the day. That’s got to be worth something, right? 

-Mark “Boomer” Redmond

Deux Dupieux

Keeping up with Quentin Dupieux is hard work, even as a fan.  The prankster Frenchman’s filmography is as prolific as it is silly, as he’s only surpassed in his routine creative output by Matt “The Madman” Farley.  Every time I review “the new Dupieux” for this site, he’s already released at least two more recent films on the Euro festival circuit, which will inevitably be followed by yet another new Dupieux before those achieve US distro.  So, while I am here to write about the two “new” Quentin Dupieux movies that arrived in America this year, I also have to acknowledge that his actual-latest film, The Second Act, has already premiered at Cannes and is still pending US release.  That’s three new features total since I reviewed Smoking Causes Coughing at last year’s Overlook Film Fest (and three more films than most aspiring directors will get to release in their lifetime).  The man is a machine that produces silly comedies at an alarming rate, like that haywire conveyor belt of chocolate treats that tormented Lucille Ball.  This must be how more serious critics feel about Hong Sang-soo.

The best of this year’s silly treats was the semi-biographical comedy Daaaaaalí!, in which Dupieux pays flippant homage to master surrealist Salvador Dalí.  The absurdly elongated title is in reference to how the multiple actors who portray Daaaaaalí pronounce their own name, often while bragging in third-person.  Dupieux is unafraid to poke fun at his artist-subject’s ludicrous ego and public misbehavior, likely because his own creative debt and reverence for Dalí is obvious to the point of not needing to be stated aloud.  The matter-of-fact surrealism of Dupieux’s humor already amounts to a career-long tribute to Dalí in its own way, so much so that the director finds it difficult to complete a film about the much more famous artist without feeling like a failure.  Daaaaaalí! is a loopy, prankish comedy about the impossibility of making a worthy, satisfying movie about Salvador Dalí.  Dupieux’s onscreen avatar is a young journalist who repeatedly attempts to film a full-length interview with Dalí but can never quite pull the fluff-piece documentary together, mostly due to whimsical sabotage from her subject.  Instead, Dupieux sends her down a labyrinth of circular-logic dreams, time-jumps, and actor swaps that make no linear narrative sense, attempting to match the audience-trolling humor of Dalí’s work at large while staging living-tableau recreations of specific Dalí paintings.  That way, Dupieux can’t disappoint himself in his homage to a personal, professional hero, since he openly admits defeat before the project starts in earnest.  With Daaaaaalí!, Dupieux combines the professional self-parody of Deerskin and the anything-goes-at-any-moment sketch comedy of Smoking Causes Coughing into a single, silly picture – finding a delightfully uneasy middle ground between his two career-best titles to date (assuming he hasn’t released an even better one since I started typing this paragraph).

Something I’ve noticed about Dupieux’s recent output is that his increasingly silly ideas for movies are outpacing his already hectic production schedule, so that recent works like Daaaaaalí! and Smoking Causes Coughing play more like sketch comedy revues than single-concept feature films.  That’s not the case with his recent title Yannick, though, which is an unusually focused & abrasive effort from the goofball auteur.  An all-in-one-night black comedy about a low-rent theatrical production that’s threatened at gunpoint by an audience member who doesn’t appreciate the show, Yannick finds Dupiuex holding his audience hostage and heckling us about our own grossest impulses in a single-location limbo.  The most interesting angle on it is trying to figure out if Dupieux considers himself one of us or one of the suffering artists who find it impossible to please us, mocking dissenters in his audience for making their personal criticisms loudly, publicly known to the detriment of fellow theatregoers who are quietly enjoying themselves.  There is some formal playfulness in how he shoots the players from the audience and the audience from the stage like two warring sides of a never-ending conflict, pontificating on how even a successful stage play is already a kind of hostage situation in reverse.  It’s just unclear whether his portrayal of the play’s titular heckler as a braying jackass is an insult to the audience’s intelligence or if he’s supposed to be a common-denominator mouthpiece voicing populist derision against needlessly pretentious, fussy art, which is something Dupieux might identify with as a man who’s dedicated his life’s work to being as silly as possible at all times.

If you’ve gotten used to Dupieux’s rapid-fire delivery of absurdly silly ideas in movies like Daaaaaalí!, the feature-length, single-idea fixation of Yannick can be a little tiresome, even at a mere 67 minutes of runtime.  It’s still interesting to decipher within the larger context of Dupieux’s career as a public figure, which is always what happens when you watch too many movies from a single director.  Out of context, Daaaaaalí! is likely still entertaining as a remarkably silly movie about a remarkably silly art-world icon, but the larger project of Dupieux’s career leads us to wonder where the director sees himself in the onscreen relationship between portraitist and subject.  That goes doubly for Yannick, where the most interesting piece of the puzzle is deciphering what our auteur du jour is attempting to communicate about the relationship between artist and audience.  It’s the same way that fellow Quentin’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is about Tarantino’s relationship with his industry, or the same way that every Matt Farley movie is now about the greater Matt Farley project, most recently exemplified in the self-parodic Local Legends: Bloodbath.  To be a Quentin Dupiuex fan is to be someone who routinely watches two or three of the silliest movies released all year in a single sitting and puzzling through what they’re saying about Art and The Artist.  Dupieux used to make movies like the killer-car-tire horror comedy Rubber about how nothing in life has any meaning or reason behind it; now he makes movies about what believing & embodying that ethos has done to his art and to the artist behind it.  I’m assuming he doesn’t have a solid answer to that personal quandary yet, since he he’s been making a lot of them.

-Brandon Ledet

SEFCA’s Top 10 Films of 2024

Swampflix’s official coverage of the best films of 2024 won’t start until January 2025, but list-making season is already in full swing elsewhere. General consensus on the best films of the year is starting to take shape as regional film critic associations are publishing their collective Best of the Year lists, and I’m proud to say I was once again able to take a small part in that annual ritual. I voted in the Southeastern Film Critics Association poll for the best films of 2024, representing a consensus opinion among 89 critics across nine states in the American South. Winners were announced this morning, and it’s a pretty solid list. At the very least, it’s cool to see Sean Baker recognized for his latest in a long line of high-energy, high-empathy sex industry dramas, Anora, and to see the objectively best score of the year win its respective category: Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross’s music for Luca Guadagnino’s erotic tennis thriller Challengers. I’m also proud to have helped a movie as absurdly grotesque as Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance get rightfully highlighted as one of the year’s major works.

The biggest story of last year’s SEFCA list was the total dominance of Christopher Nolan’s historical drama Oppenheimer, which then went on to sweep The Oscars as well, with seven wins out of thirteen nominations. This year, there’s no clear dominant winner, as the majority of the prizes are evenly split among Anora, Conclave, and The Brutalist. That sounds like a robust crop of movies to me. To quote SEFCA President Scott Phillips in today’s press release, “Every year we hear from the naysaying sectors of the industry that it wasn’t a very good year for film. This slate of winners easily disproves that statement for 2024. Between theatrical distribution and streaming, releases can be a bit scattered and hard to find, but if you take the time to find the better films of 2024, they form a potent lineup. We hope that film fans out there can use our Top 10 list to catch up on some of the best that 2024 had to offer.”

Check out the SEFCA’s Top 10 Films of 2024 list below, and the full list of this year’s awarded films on the organization’s website.

  1. Anora
  2. The Brutalist
  3. Conclave
  4. Dune Part 2
  5. Challengers
  6. Nickel Boys
  7. Sing Sing
  8. Wicked Part 1
  9. The Substance
  10. A Complete Unknown

11th Place Runner-Up (and my personal favorite on this list): I Saw the TV Glow

-Brandon Ledet