Really Awful Movies

Is this cover art ever deceptive? A piece of heavy machinery with Kraken tank treads and a penchant for human blood? Crawler, a movie about a killer bulldozer, covers new ground (literally) and isn’t nearly as terrible as it should be. In fact, it’s kinda loveable, like a mom loves her reprobate criminal son.

The demise of video stores (and associated eye-capturing cover art) means, to quote the late BB King, the thrill is gone when it comes to happening upon something so ludicrous, so god-awful looking and yet at the same time an absolute must-rent.

Crawler is just that. The poster is an absolute riot and Fifty Tons of Terror is a tagline to beat. But is the flick tons of fun?

Evil developers are callously constructing a golf course with complete disregard of a murder victim having been previously found there. Or something. And the deceased’s mother is picketing the project. Nonetheless, instead of erecting a plaque or planting a tree to honor the victim, things proceed as holes are dug and land is cleared.

The project’s foreman, who thinks one of his workers died under his watch, is away trying to dry out and drowning his sorrows in self-pity and blame.

But the show must go on.

The foreman’s replacement needs some added machinery to elevate greens and tees and to excavate mounds and to dig some bunkers. He goes to the local rental place to procure a “crawler” (bulldozer). But things are not as they seem. For starters, there’s something ominous about the machine. It’s all alone, stuck in a far-flung back corner of the facility. No matter.

crawler_promo Once the job begins, the machine suddenly burns the forearms of some of the workers, despite it being cold to the touch. It’s come alive, running over people’s feet, injecting them with goo and sprouting tentacled dozer tracks.

Soon, the original foreman returns to do battle against the machinery.

Keir Cutler is dynamite as Karl, the machine’s unlikely love interest, as is Robert Renyolds as Dover, the sagely rental guy who opines on the nature of evil.

Loads of fun on a minuscule budget.

*** (out of 5)

He’s the “chosen one.” There’s no Obi-Wan to be found, but who needs him, when you’ve got Stallone?

Rambo: First Blood Part II, is the prototype for all special forces-type commando movies. After the subtle understatement of First Blood, there is moon-bat action aplenty in the sequel, with Rambo sweating his way through two head bands, and baddies who wear the wrong color camo in the jungle.

John J. Rambo (JJR) is working on a chain gang, when he’s approached by Colonel Trautman for a covert recon mission to rescue POWs who are still being held captive in ‘Nam.

And naturally, it’s a suicide mission. And of course, there’s a timeline attached to it, part of what management/business types would call a critical path — where he’s supposed to be when, what weapons he’ll use, what he’ll encounter there, etc. It’s a cheap and cheerful way for screenwriters to ratchet up the tension.

In Rambo: First Blood Part II, he’s got 36 hours, and to prove how awesome a specimen JJR is, he doesn’t eat or take a dump for the whole duration.

Of course his prowess is questioned by disbelieving military folks, who have access to the latest and greatest weaponry and a wall of giant 80s computers. But Rambo says (rightly) that “the mind is the best weapon.”

Still, you can’t have an 80s action movie without a spectacular arming / weaponry montage, and while the mind may be the best weapon, a machine gun is really what’s top-drawer when it comes to blasting khaki-clad extras off rickety wooden boats in muddy rivers.

And because it was the 80s, Russians, not just the Viet Cong, made for fantastic bad guys (they still do, decades hence). They make all kinds of macho patter when they could’ve easily cut Rambo’s throat rather than subjecting him to a mud bath of leeches.

Re-watching Rambo: First Blood Part II, one is staggered by the hack chutzpah of Bruno Mattei, whose cornball 1987 hit, Strike Commando, is a note-for-note walk-through of this movie, complete with a scene where Mike Ransom has to make a radio address under duress and cradles a dying boy, much like JJR does Co-Bao (the Razzie-nominated Julia Nickson).

Luckily, George P. Cosmatos and not Mattei, is behind the camera for Rambo, he of the exemplary Tombstone, and the enjoyably asinine Leviathan. And under his tight direction, we get something pretty glorious.

And while we love Reb Brown, he is clearly no match for the steely mullet of prime-beef Stallone.

***3/4 (out of 5)

[CHECK OUT OUR FIRST BLOOD PODCAST!]