Friday Night Fu Review: Shaolin

Shaolin ★★★  

This was such a hard movie to review, and I'm not even sure why. Shaolin (2011) was beautifully filmed, finely acted, with multiple satisfying character arcs and quality fight choreography. It also featured a charming and hefty-yet-well-balanced cameo by Jackie Chan, but didn't allow the guest mega-star to steal the show.

Shaolin has a historic biopic feel (seems to be the fashion in Kung Fu of late) though as far as I know, it's not based on any actual events or figures. It stars Andy Lau, a talented performer whom I knew best from The Warlords (2007), offering a solid screen presence if not a surfeit of charisma. Playing the baddie was Nicholas Tse, whom I mistook for Huang Xiaoming the entire movie. In my defense, both actors are also former pop stars. They must have twin-like pop-star facial features. Anyhow, Tse played a believable power-hungry, sadistic dictator figure, though like Lau was also just a little short on charisma…though for all I know, that could be the fault of subtitle translation.

I won't bore you by summarizing the plot, which was your classic, thoughtful war epic, as well as a culture clash between ambitious military generals and pacifist-but-still-bad-ass Shaolin monks whose temple is under siege and caught between the two warring factions. It also becomes adoptive home to the protagonist after he (of course) loses everything he loves as a result of his ambition and back-stabbing. Enlightenment and vengeance ensues.

The fight scenes were solid and innovative, with a just a taste of that over-the-top Kung Fu reliance on invisible wires for stylization, which personally I can really take or leave. They were well integrated, but I think what didn't work for me in the movie was the overall tone… It was, at times, heartbreaking and gritty and grief-stricken. Then at odd moments, bordering on slapstick (perhaps because of its guest star, though I don't blame Chan for the mad-cap components.) It was never wacky, but the wacky-ish moments didn't jibe with the heartrending scenes, which were many. The movie didn't suffer from a complete personality disorder, but a more consistent mood would've helped. And maybe I'm greedy, but I wanted more fight scenes. And more training montages. Always more montages!

I really enjoyed Yu Xing's supporting performance (according to IMDb trivia, he actually is a 32nd generation Shaolin monk!) I knew his face from the Ip Man films, and he and another actor did a great job in two minor-ish roles, soft comic relief in the form of charmingly wayward monks. They added a lighter element without it feeling too discordant, given all the wartime sturm und drang. Also deserving praise was the young performer (and actual Shaolin monk, I believe) who played the perhaps twelve-year-old monk fighter featured in the final quarter of the film. He was fabulous, though I wasn't able to track down his name to credit him.

So overall, a solid Kung Fu war epic, if not the most memorable one. But if you're intrigued, check the trailer:

Friday Night Fu Review: Fearless

Fearless ★★★★½ 

Though he disappointed me awhile back with The One, I decided to give Jet Li another chance. He'd never let me down before, after all. I needed to wash the lingering taste of 2001 out of my mouth and move on.

Fearless (2006) was a palate cleanser of the best ilk. It was directed by Ronny Yu, but I was convinced it had to be Wilson Yip's work. Yip directed 2008's artful Ip Man and its even more artful sequel, and that franchise and Fearless are reminiscent of each other in multiple ways. Both are historical Chinese biopics, but the similarities go far beyond that. I wouldn't say Ip Man is derivative, but I'd be surprised if Yip hadn't been influenced by Fearless.

But on to the story. Fearless is the dramatized biography of Huo Yuanjia, a real-life Chinese Wushu Master. He starts the story as a charmingly feckless, bullied child, maturing into a kick-ass fighter, young widower, and father, whose cockiness and party-boy habits lead him to great trouble and tragedy, in the form of his remaining family being slain in revenge for his careless disrespect toward another local Master. Nice character arc from invincible to reckless to ruined to reborn and redeemed.

Oh, Tanaka… sigh.

There's also a great thread involving Yuanjia's lifelong best friend, a businessman who stands by him through his terrible mistakes and ultimately funds his participation in some exciting bouts against various non-Chinese challengers (much encroaching colonialism, though not as demonized as that in Ip Man). There's also a nice little understated romantic subplot involving the charming actress, Betty Sun. The villains in this story were handled exceedingly well—very human, unlike Ip Man 2's monstrous but cartoonish Mr. Twister. So, the movie was already great…then add to it the special bonus called Shidô Nakamura, a Japanese kabuki actor and major fox who played the highly thrustable anti-villain of the final showdown fight, Tanaka. Unh. Unh on you and your most honorable sword, Tanaka.

So, I highly recommend Fearless. Oh crap, and I haven't even mentioned the actual fighting, which was tremendous. It's hard to find a truly original fight scene in the Kung Fu genre, in choreography or setting, but this film had some real gems. But the best thing of all was that the fighting and the story and the execution of the film were all equally strong. If Ong Bak hadn't set the bar so didonkulously high for this feature, Fearless would've been a five-star Kung Fu flick for me. Here's one of its many kick-ass fight scenes…I normally don't care much for weapons, but whoever did the sword choreography for this film was nuts. So good. Go find the whole movie on Instant Watcher.

Why do I write?

I've been thinking this quite a bit the last couple weeks, probably because I fell victim to a week-long change-of-season funk, the annoying, lingering kind that makes you get all cerebral on yourself…

Why exactly do I write?

I've been able to come up with simple answers. There's the pragmatic reason—I write because I seem to be decent at it and am getting paid, with the potential to get paid more in the future. There's also the philosophical reason, which so many authors articulate as the over-simplified and frightfully hokey, "I write because I can't not write." Well, no, that's not really true, technically speaking. What they mean is, "I write because not writing feels bad," or "Writing gives my life meaning." Fine justifications, as legit as the money-based ones.

But why do we do anything? For the pay-off, financial or spiritual or social or manifested in our sense of self-worth and purpose. So, what exactly am I getting out of this gig?

Income-wise, divide what I make by the hours I put into writing, and in a good month, I'm making minimum wage, if I'm lucky. It ain't the money, honey.

There's a definite thrill in being praised, but truth be told, a lousy review hits me harder than a good one cheers me, as gloomy and ungrateful as that sounds. A bad review makes me feel more bad than a good review makes me feel good—if temporarily. That's a human instinct, to react more potently to threatening circumstances. Criticism is a threat in our modern society, as visceral a scare as being chased by a predator or attacked by a rival was in ye olde survival-times. It only makes good sense that our bodies manifest threats and criticism more potently than the triggers that tell us, "You're doing great! People like you! Five stars!" The latter is awesome…but it'll never compete, gut-impact-wise, with the negative. Not for me, anyhow, though I wish it would. I just have to keep reminding myself of that, so when I do stumble into a pile of the negative, a psychic foot-in-a-turd, my rational brain can remind itself that no, I'm not in mortal danger, my body's just awash with run-away-from-the-wolverine chemicals.

So it's not for the praise. The praise is a bonus, pretty blossoms worth dodging the turds for. What about success, the carrots of potential accomplishments dangling before me? The promise of the next contract, the killer agent, the big deal, the What's Next…? Those are good. I like those, as I'm very goal-oriented and I love qualifying my own progress. I certainly like the days when I make a new sale infinitely more than those naked-feeling book release days. Plus I've always been a bit of a teacher's pet, eager for authoritarian praise from on high. But that's not why I do it.

What about the characters? Do I owe it to my characters to tell their stories? Um, no. I made those people up. If anything, they owe me. Plus they're so much fun to abuse.

Setting aside the reviewers, professional and hobbyist and Goodreads-casual alike, do I write for the readers? Well, kind of. As a professional author, of course I do. I write stories that I hope strangers will read and enjoy. But I've had the good fortune of genuinely being able to accept Stephen King's advice on the topic of reader-pleasing; you can't aim to please everyone, because no book (or song or film or painting or person or recipe) will ever make everyone happy. Not even close. Not even remotely close.

You can only aim to please your Ideal Reader, as King calls him or her, and that's what I do, now. My Ideal Reader changes from book to book. Sometimes it's my targeted editor, or my avid-romance-reader-friend Amy, or my critique buddy Ruthie. But it's always just a single person I'm writing a story for, and hot damn, that's a huge relief. Especially since I have access to that person, and can ask them to read the story as it's progressing, so I know if I'm hitting the mark for my tiny, hand-picked audience of one. And in the end, as long as they're happy then the book's a success, and on an intellectual level, I can shrug off the knowledge that some people will be disappointed, inevitably. Thank you, Stephen King, for setting my brain free.

But I write for myself, I think, above everyone else. Not in a swoony book-of-my-heart-type way. I write because it puts me in such complete control—a control I relinquish the second the book's published, when it's no longer mine to fuss with and groom, set free to fend for itself in strangers' hands or on strangers' screens. But while it's still being written and polished, it's all mine.

It's no secret I used to be a designer. I stumbled across my penchant for fiction-writing three years ago, and though I was always proud as a designer to be able to say that I got paid to be creative all day…it doesn't compare. Ideal Reader aside, as a writer I spend all day doing exactly what I want, for myself. Even during edits and revisions, I still feel in control, because I trust my editors and I trust their opinions and advice will help me make my books better, which I want far more than I want to be perfect straight out of the gate. As a writer I've had incredibly free reign over my own creativity and process—freakishly free reign. And as a pretty autonomous, admittedly self-orbiting personality, that is fucking wonderful.

I guess I don't really know why I write. Not in a way I can distill into a single pithy line, at least. (Clearly not—look how bloated and gassy this very post has become.)

So maybe I should ask myself, why didn't I write, before? Why wasn't I doing this, four years ago? And the answer to that is, because I had no idea how important it was to me, and how much more fulfilled doing it would make me feel. It's like asking someone who hasn't yet discovered their inherent love of exercise, why don't they take up walking or yoga? Well, because you don't think you need to, to live. It's easier not to, and you'll seemingly have more time to yourself if you don't. You don't know until it's gone from chore to habit to hobby to passion, just how essential it is beyond the basic benefits of physical activity and fresh air. You don't yet know that feeling in your body, that thing inside that nags you to go take a walk, tangible as a toddler or pet whining at your hip. That magic that happens when you discover something that's not only good for you, but that you enjoy doing, that some days you downright love. A compulsive, perfectly selfish love, the kind that gets a marathoner in their shoes and out on the road each morning, through rain and snow and injury, against doctor's wishes, the draw of the punishment for whatever reason stronger than an excuse to stay in bed, warm and unchallenged. It's always easier to leave the page blank, after all. But some of us just don't get off on easy.

I think that's why I write, anyhow. What about you?

Friday Night Fu Review: The One

The One ★★ ½

I was prepared to be wowed, but sadly I wasn't.

There was a lot of potential awesome going for The One (2001)—Jet Li, Jason Statham, several more Jet Li multiverse alternate reality clones… And yet it fell flat.

Let's back up, though. Here is what the movie's about, in a nutshell. It's a biggish budget sci-fi action flick, and Jet Li plays the bad guy, a dude who travels through worm holes to assassinate his many other iterations in alternate universes, thus gaining himself superhuman powers en route to becoming The One, a majorly evil unstoppable bad-ass. He also plays the good guy, a mild-mannered martial arts enthusiast cop version of himself, and the final guy the evil Jet Li has to kill to become The One. Jason Statham—never shirtless and with far too much hair on his head for my taste—plays an inter-universal agent, trying to help the good guy and stop the evil guy.

The unbilled star of this movie, for better or worse, was the year it was made—2001. It comes through in the pervasively nouveau cock-rockish post-Marilyn Manson soundtrack, the Matrix-wannabe effects (and affects), in the sheer colorization and cinematography of the thing. Heck, maybe it just wasn't meant to be seen by a viewer for the first time in 2011. But it's dated.

The major issue for me was that this movie lacked the charisma of a more over-the-top, pure martial arts romp (i.e., the original Drunken Master or Ong Bak). Its choreography was solid, stunts decent, star undoubtedly talented…but that magical, borderline wackiness of a true classic was missing, replaced with unconvincing slow-down/speed-up special effects. (In my snotty opinion, a good Kung Fu movie's wow-factor comes from the actors' physicality—the magic is in the "holy shit, did you see that dude flip?" moments, not the "holy shit, did you see that CGI?" moments.) It also could have used a lot more cheek and humor—Li and Statham both have it in them, but sadly, the writers apparently did not.

But I'm being mean, and asking it to be something it never promised it was. I mean, look at the cover—it's clearly at least 50% sci-fi. So here are some pluses to balance out the criticisms. Cool premise. Fast paced. Likable supporting heroine character. Quality stunt double action in the scenes where Li battles himself. Some innovative fight scenes and settings (in addition to some really tired ones). If you like nouveau cock-rock, the perfect soundtrack. An ending that's both sweet and utterly schlocky, utterly Hollywood. But I'm afraid that's about it. Tons of potential, but in the end, a limp-yet-noisy rehash.

Now behold the trailer:

Friday Night Fu Review: Ip Man 2

Ip Man 2 ★★★★ 

This is one of those rare cases when the sequel surpasses the original. I didn't actually do a formal review of Ip Man, but it was a good movie. Beautifully filmed and choreographed and starring the super talented Donnie Yen, and yet…it didn't light me on fire. Certainly not the way Ong-Bak did. In my opinion, it was lacking a certain amount of charisma and fun, though there's no doubt is was a solid Kung Fu film.

Ip Man 2 (葉問2:宗師傳奇, 2010) on the other hand, was really exciting. Both films are biographical, telling the story of Ip Man, founder and Grandmaster of the Wing Chun style of Kung Fu, and Bruce Lee's mentor (though Bruce doesn't turn up until the very end of the sequel, in an obnoxious bit of heavy-handed foreshadowing). The second film follows Ip Man's struggles to start his own Kung Fu school in 1950, in the wake of the Japanese invasion of Hong Kong depicted in the first installment. Ip Man is opposed by a bullish collective of established masters in the area, and must win their respect and acceptance if he's to realize his calling and provide for his vulnerable family.

Xiaoming, you are getting

so thrusted on next week…

Amid all this drama, colonial tension is also brewing. The British are causing unrest in Hong Kong with their blustering imperialism, and this manifests itself in the form of Mister Twister. Twister is an über-thug English boxer (played by Mancunian martial artist Darren Shahlavi) who scoffs at Kung Fu and its pint-sized practitioners. Of course this unites the city's schools, and Ip Man has the chance to prove himself a true and worthy master if he can rise to challenge the British brute and avenge the Chinese fighters who have been injured and even killed in the ring.

I thought this movie was really solid, and far more fun than its predecessor. It loses a star for the hyper-precocious Bruce Lee reveal (which could have been so much cooler if handled with a wink instead of a sledge hammer), and some unnecessarily over-the-top Crouching-Tiger-style stunts, which felt out of place in an otherwise passably realistic biopic. But it gets a solid four stars from me, especially since it's got Huang Xiaoming, who is a FOX!

Here's the kick-ass trailer:

Release day, wooo!

Feels like I just had one of these a couple of weeks ago…oh wait, I did. But publishing is nothing if not stormy and spastic, so here we are again in the midst of my feast (famine to commence shortly, I'm sure).

So The Reluctant Nude is out today from Samhain! It's a contemporary romance about an unorthodox affair between a no-nonsense ecologist and a hot-blooded French sculptor, sequestered together one autumn in the artist's studio on Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. I'm very proud of this story. It's very me, as an author…quiet and intimate and a bit wonky. Fallon, the heroine, is waaay out of her element, and as a result she's wary and irritable and defensive. The hero, Max, is somewhat eccentric and occasionally galling, as provocative as Fallon is guarded. A match made in my own twisted idea of heaven.

I was going to make a big to-do, maybe post a recipe from Nova Scotia or Britanny, France, as there is a lot of food and wine consumption in the book…maybe talk about my Cape Breton honeymoon in 2009 which completely inspired the story…well, the setting, not the plot… But on second thought, I'm exhausted from the week already, so I've decided to keep the pimping minimal.

Ah, Cape Breton in autumn! Photo ©Dave MacDonald

But I must spew forth my thanks! Thanks to you future readers, and thanks to the book's very first readers, MB, Amy and Liz. Thanks to the judges who deemed it worthy to final in the 2010 Golden Heart, gigantic thanks to my editor Anne Scott for choosing it and making it stronger, to Kanaxa, who designed the beautiful cover, and to the kind reviewers who've weighed in on it so far.

Actually, I will dwell on the reviews. I've taken to forcing my forthcoming romances on my RWA chaptermate Penny Watson, and so far she's enjoyed them both, despite her repeated claims that she doesn't like contemporaries. She promised if she hated the book she'd diplomatically keep those feelings to herself and not review it on her blog, but as it turns out, she loved it! You can read her review here.

And this morning I woke up to an equally kind and thoughtful review from Smexy Books. Apparently I made both reviewers cry, which is pretty delightful since so often it goes the other way 'round for us authors.

Anyhow, for more information (blurb, excerpt) or to buy direct and save 30%, you can check it out in the Samhain online store. It's also available for Kindle and Nook, and come February of next year it will be available as a paperback.

That's enough for now. Thanks for swinging by on this exciting day!

A Doubly Thrusty Friday Fu Review

So just last week I "discovered" Jason Statham for myself and promptly dedicated Thrusty Thursday to him and his extraordinary foxxitude. Then I asked my Twitter cohorts—who know everything—which of his movies I ought to gorge myself upon first. The unanimous and resounding response was "TRANSPORTER!" And off I scampered to add it to my Netflix queue.

The Transporter ★★★ ½ 

Fun and foxy, if not strictly a
true martial arts flick.

I watched it on Wednesday night with the manfriend and enjoyed it a lot. Strictly speaking, The Transporter (2002) is not a Kung Fu movie, but the scenes that do feature martial arts-style combat are exceptional, so I'm rounding it up. It's fast-paced, well choreographed, and the action sequences are very clever and original. Statham plays the protagonist, a man whose job is to deliver anything to anyone, no questions asked. Matt Schulze plays the lead baddie, who's involved in human trafficking and attempts to blow Statham up, after using his services. Vengeance ensues!

As an aside, I didn't know until he popped up on screen that Matt Schulze was in this film. I owe Schulze more than a few solids, as his Thrusty Thursday post attracts (no exaggeration, I busted out the calculator) nearly twenty percent of all the traffic for this blog. And "Matt Schulze" is the most popular keywording used to find the Super Lucky #1 Fun Blog by light years.

Back to the review. I liked this movie, let me say that right now. But there were a few things that ding it some points. For one, Matt Schulze was issued a haircut that did not best exhibit his foxiness. The dialogue was not nearly as clever as the action. The chemistry between Statham and the female lead was a bit unconvincing, and worse still, we don't get to see anything in the way of NC-17 bedroom shenanigans. However, perverts like me will be vindicated, because later in the movie Statham uses his shirt to incapacitate some baddies and spends a bunch of time fighting topless. Schulze, in my opinion, is a good actor for playing bad guys…he has a Stephen Dorff-esque charisma. However, I think he plays a better asshole than a true villain, and I enjoyed his smaller part in The Fast and the Furious more than this role.

Of course I couldn't post this without sourcing a clip (and a long one, as it turns out) that features Jason Statham fighting Matt Schulze…at least at the start. Then to make up for the lack of Schulze, Statham gets his shirt off and rolls about in a puddle of oil. No, really! Watch and see.

"Someone already hates your book."

No amount of philosophy can ever prevent the screaming. 

Those are my husband's grim words of wisdom on the topic of reviews. They sound harsh, but he means them philosophically. As many writers will agree, we live our lives in cycles of pain and joy, fear and delight. I'm now entering the pre-release phase on two books, my first two romances. I already know from my experience publishing erotica that book pre-release is a time of jitters, of both the happy and terrified varieties. Excitement for the world to finally have access to my work, and fear that it will disappoint them. Greater fear that it will disappoint them and they will share their displeasure with the internet and shave away a little sliver of my self-worth. (Luckily, self-worth regenerates, much like a starfish's appendages.)

I'm at a funky, unnerving point this week. Advanced review copies of my two romances are circulating, and the paperback and ebook versions of my April Blaze seem to already be available to buy from eHarlequin.

Reviews and ratings are already trickling in for both stories. Positive ones. Out of the blue I discovered that Caught on Camera (the Blaze) had earned four-and-a-half stars from Andrew Shaffer at Romantic Times (you need a subscription to view the review for the time being, but the highlights are on my books page). The story also received glowing praise from Penelope's Romance Reviews—Penny and I are RWA chaptermates, and she told me up front in her charmingly blunt way that if she hated it, she'd be diplomatic enough not to post her opinions. She doesn't mince words or kiss asses, so I was relieved as well as surprised when I earned a lovely write-up from her this morning. Also today, I Twitter-stumbled (twumbled?) across this review from a self-described Harlequin aficionado. Colored me flattered!

So I'm on cloud nine, right? Dear God, no! I'm terrified.

I've never owned a new car, but I have to imagine this is what it feels like, right after you've been handed the papers and keys to your dream ride. At this moment in time, it's perfect. Unmarred by scratches and mud and spilled drinks. The second it leaves the lot, the danger begins. You almost beg for a dent, just to get it out of the way, so that you may give up the suffocating dream of perfection and the pressure that comes with it. That's where I am now, waiting for the first inevitable ding. Practically praying for one, so I can breathe and move on in glorious, dignified imperfection.

When I reach this phase and become nervous and self-doubtful and sometimes downright paranoid, my husband likes to lay that line on me. "Someone already hates your book." What he means is, no matter how great a job a writer did, somebody, somewhere, won't like it. Quite possibly, many somebodies won't like it. It's a scientific fact. When he says that to me, he does so hoping to set me free from my own expectations. It pretty much works, at least in theory.

This job comes patterned in alternating stripes of relief and fear. Relief at the hands of a satisfied reviewer, fear that the next one that won't be so kind or impressed. Relief to have finished a book, sold a book, seen its cover, smelled its pages. Fear of what will happen to it, thrust out into the world and the interwebs. For each book, this pattern has a peak, and the descent down the other side eventually smooths out as my release day [or week, or month] high fades and my focus shifts to the next story. I'm not there yet, though. With a double romance debut ahead of me in the next month, the white-knuckling is just beginning. I am making the jerky, clunky ascent to the zenith of the roller coaster's highest drop, awaiting free fall, twists and turns before I'm deposited sweaty but safe back on the ground. And wouldn't you know it? The second I am, I'm already counting my tickets and scouting for the next ride.

I Cheat for Jogglers

Right when Meager March began, I admitted that I would be cheating. Abstaining from frivolous purchases for myself alone isn't too hard, but denying myself activities with my manfriend or family or friends feels like a false economy. I also promised I'd fess up when I did cheat, which is what brings me to this post.

Today my manfriend and I went to a showing at the Salem Film Fest. I bravely resisted the concessions, so with the ticket price, my non-sanctioned frivolous purchases currently total:

$10.00

But it was completely worth it. We saw a screening of Breaking and Entering, a joyful and eccentric documentary about Guinness World Record chasers and breakers. The director, Benjamin Fingerhut, was there, so we got to enjoy a Q&A with him afterward as well. It's a charming and hilarious film that features perhaps a dozen people—a handful of them in-depth—as they pursue their record-setting dreams, battle their rivals, and go for the glory.

My favorite story within the film was the rivalry between the two world champion jogglers (they run marathons while juggling three balls), Michal Kapral and Zach Warren. It should be amazing enough to finish a national marathon in thirteenth place overall, let alone to do so while juggling. I also enjoyed the various pursuits of Ashrita Furman, the man who currently holds the Guinness World Record for holding the most Guinness World Records (108; among them, running while balancing a milk bottle on his head, slicing the most apples in mid-air with a Samurai sword, and hula-ing the largest hula hoop). An awesome doco, and surprisingly emotional.

I can't recommend this movie enough. If you have a chance to watch it, do so! For now, check out its charming trailer:

Friday Night Fu Review: District 13: Ultimatum

District 13: Ultimatum ★★★ ½ 

Solid, but nothing we didn't see in 

the original. 

So a few months ago I went on and on about Cyril Raffaelli and David Belle, the two foxy Frenchmen who starred in District B13 (2004, French title Banlieue 13). Now despite its super awesome stunts, I wouldn't have called it a martial arts film…but its sequel, District 13: Ultimatum (2009, French title Banlieue 13: Ultimatum) I believe, is. Hooray! That means I get to do another Fu Review, even if it's not an actual Kung Fu movie. I believe Raffaelli may be trained in Muay Thai (cue tingling of my lady-bits) but don't quote me on that. I just had my pupils dilated and I want to spend as little time staring at this screen as possible, so to hell with research.

Let me say right now, this movie is super cool. Like the original, it's set in a sort of not-too-distant-future dystopic Paris, out in the racially divided ghettos. Like the original, it's got amazing on-foot chases and fight sequences, a bit of romance, government intrigue, tongue-in-cheek moments of humor, and two hot dudes running about being impressive in a variety of ways. But that's sort of the problem…this sequel doesn't really give you anything you didn't already get from the first installment. In fact, the climactic scenes of both movies are strikingly similar. They made a movie that was equally good as its predecessor, but almost too equal. I feel silly asking a pretty innovative movie to be more innovative… I feel even more silly complaining about how they gave me more of all the stuff I loved in the first movie. But that is essentially what I'm doing.

Anyhow, it was a cool movie. I recommend it, even if it didn't rock my socks as hard as the original. Oh and two things you do get in this one that you don't in the first—Cyril Raffaelli in drag, and probably the best violent use of a Van Gogh painting that has been and will ever be seen on film.

The last time I gushed about these two, I showed a chase clip of David Belle. So this time, I'll share some of Raffaelli's handiwork—the aforementioned "painting fight". Blazzow!

WWJCVDD?

For those perverts who follow my erotica alter ego, you may recognize this as a repeat from her group author blog, first posted last spring. I'm rerunning it for shits and giggles, and to maximize the value of the roughly two days of my life I lost to invested in watching Jean-Claude Van Damme's entire cinematic ouevre.

This is my longest post to date…and the least relevant! Today I'm blogging about an experiment I undertook with my manfriend this past winter, in which we watched every Jean-Claude Van Damme film we could get our hands on—over thirty movies in six weeks. Hey, it's New England. February's a bitch and you need projects.

This all began on a semi-drunken night in Old England. My traveling companion and I enjoyed a couple too many Guinesses out amongst my Yorkshire brethren and returned to our hotel to find a terrifically horrible Steven Seagal movie on TV…I wish I could remember more, but I only know it was set in Alaska and all the Inuits seemed to be played by Chinese actors. We laughed and laughed and passed out.

One night after I got back home, the manfriend and I were hurting for entertainment and I said, "Let's watch a Steven Seagal movie!" He said, "I heard Steven Seagal has some contract clause where he won't even take a punch in his fight scenes. Let's watch a Van Damme movie instead." And so we did. Then another. Then another, then a month and a half later we'd watched JCVD's entire available oeuvre. That's about two cumulative days of each of our lives, lost forever, ninety minutes at a time.

As a consequence of this experiment I developed a massive soft spot for JC. He takes a lot of flak for his many rather bad films, and for his allegedly poor acting. It's true, he can't deliver a Hollywood one-liner to save his life, but I think he's actually a rather strong emotional actor. He's also a kick-ass screen martial artist, and I think anyone who bad-mouths JC should be forced to do a split whilst saving a baby and reciting lines in a non-native language. Then we'll see who's talented.

And of course, Jean-Claude Van Damme is pretty foxy. I didn't realize that before starting this experiment, as I'd never actually seen any of his movies. Hey, bonus! He's got a fine face (including the mysterious bump on his forehead which I've taken to calling his "spider eggs") and an ass that just won't quit.

Anyhow, enough of my defensive mother-hen clucking. On to the thirty-plus mini-reviews, my public service guide to JCVD's Cinematic Oeuvre. Here they are, from best to worst…worst in this case meaning boring or insulting, not necessarily campy or ridiculous—many of JC's campy and ridiculous films are among my favorites. You will notice color-coded themes running through these reviews, denoting special features, such as the ways in which JC's accent is explained. Other features are so ubiquitous in JC's films that I haven't bothered pointing them out. These include explosions, breaking glass, primal screams, and high-waisted pants. Those are very nearly guaranteed when you choose wisely and indulge in a little Van Damme of an evening.

Here we go!

1. JCVD (2008)
I think if you're going to watch only one Van Damme movie, make it this one. JC plays himself in it and it's clearly semi-autobiographical. It's a clever little tongue-in-cheek Belgian film not unlike Dog Day Afternoon, and although you don't get much in the way of cool fighting, I defy anyone to watch it and not develop a soft spot for the Muscles from Brussels.

Okay, now on to the classics!

2. Hard Target (1993)
I was tempted to list this first, because it has everything that makes a JCVD flick great. JC plays a Cajun (as he often does in movies set in North America, when he's not playing a Quebecois). Highlights: JC sports a powerful Jheri-curled mullet, punches a rattlesnake, and you get to see Wilford Brimley as a moonshine brewer. Miles of ridiculous plot and fighting, plus a token sassy black lady.


3. Bloodsport (1988)
Major bromance in this one! What I like about Bloodsport is that it's your classic fight movie, the story revolving around revenge and culminating in a climactic battle scene. Lots of training montages, tons of combat, a Hong Kong setting, not too much extraneous plot, TONS of splits (including ones performed using a rudimentary training device) plus some sexxoring and shameless rear nudity.


4. The Shepherd (2008)
This gets big points because JC spends much of the movie carrying around a bunny, plus he's Cajun. You can't top that. Plot is just over-the-top enough and the fight scenes are great. Bonus: one of the villains is foxy.


5. In Hell (2003)
Set in the Eastern Bloc, this one is simply a good movie, in my opinion. Then again, I like movies set in prisons for some kinky reason. You won't get a ton of cool stunts from In Hell, but on the flip-side, JC is spared delivering corny one-liners and does a very nice job as a plain old actor. I'm 75% sure JC is Cajun in this one, though they don't really tell you.


6. Timecop (1994)
This movie has it all! Time-travel, corrupt politicians, revenge, the best JC kitchen-sink split scene ever, sexxoring, spinning hopping roundhouse kicks to the villains' heads… JC's accent is left a mystery.


7. Double Impact (1991)
Here is all you need to know: JC plays his own long-lost identical twin. Bonuses: splits (as pictured), a bit of bromance, and JC's accent is explained as one of the twins was raised in France, the other in a Hong Kong orphanage overseen by a French nun.


8. Double Team (1997)
So horrid it's got to be good. This disbelief-fest co-stars Dennis Rodman (who gets about five hair color changes throughout the course of the film) and is rife with basketball puns. There is a nice training montage scene in which JC makes innovative use of a doorway, among other improvised gym apparati. The story reaches a dizzying climax involving landmines and a baby and JC side-kicking a tiger just before the Colosseum asplodes.


9. Sudden Death (1995)
Die Hard, with hockey! Set at the Stanley cup and featuring precocious children, my husband thought this movie was near perfect, with the exception of the wholly unnecessary scene in which JC suits up as a Penguins goalie whilst eluding terrorists and goes out onto the ice…a scene that could have been cut without disrupting any other aspect of the story. If I recall correctly, JC is Quebecois.


10. The Quest (1996)
This one was loosely based on the life of the same martial artist who inspired Bloodsport—Frank Dux. It's a sort of globe-trekking adventure that features training montages, split-kicks, and JC running about in clown make-up at the very beginning.


11. Universal Soldier (1992)
JC plays a [presumably] Cajun war vet turned government-engineered killing machine. I liked this one…and I don't really like sci-fi, generally. It co-stars Dolph Lundgren as the baddie, and there is some shameless glistening rear-nudity as well as lots of JC getting dunked in icy baths.


12. Until Death (2007)
This was an interesting one…pretty dark. JC is a dirty cop who's addicted to heroin. He later ends up in a coma and wakes up a better man. I can't remember all that much else about it, though I'm fairly certain he's Cajun once again.


13. Desert Heat (1999)
Not like any other JC film I can think of… JC (who may be Cajun, I can't recall) goes to the Southwest someplace, and he has a foot-rubbing bromance going on with a wacky Native American guy. JC also has a threesome with a couple trashy blondes (witnessed by a pervy snakehandler woman), all whilst killing lots of evil rednecks on a mission to gets hisself some revenge! Again, I thought one of the evil rednecks was cute, so that helped. Also, JC is all beat up for a lot of it, and a bruised and vulnerable man turns my kinky crank. Oh and Mister Miyagi is in it!


14. Nowhere to Run (1993)
This one's actually listed in IMDb as both action and romance. JC is on the run from the feds and takes shelter in the home of a woman and her almost ludicrously precocious children. There is some disconcerting mother-child chat about JC's contentious wang size, but I believe there's a bit of rear-nudity that'll make up a few lost points.


15. The Order (2001)
Dan Brown may have written this, possibly while drunk… It's a mix of Angels and Demons and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, set in Israel. Some innovative chase scenes and some interesting weaponry at the end, but not one of my favorites…although you do get to see JC in disguise as a Hassidic Jew.


16. Legionnaire (1998)
Starts out with some sexy scenes of a French JC as a boxer (my personal Kryptonite). He refuses to throw a fight and is shipped off to the Foreign Legion, where he battles corruption and hitmen to get back to his jilted fiancée. Dusty! Bromance! Also, not too corny, though not one of the more memorable films.


17. Derailed (2002)
Nearly set in the Eastern Bloc, this is a better version of Seagal's Under Siege II. JC and his wife and kids are on a train along with a vixeny jewel thief, and chaos ensues! Also a bit like Speed, on a train. Or Die Hard, on a train. Okay overall, the highlights being some ridonkulous stunts featuring JC on a motorbike…on a train! If he'd done a split between two cars, that would have bumped it up the list.


18. Cyborg (1989)
This was an interesting one…post-Apocalyptic and a bit like Beyond Thunderdome, only set in the States and without all the flash and Tina Turner. JC does a notably fine split in a sewer in aid of escaping the baddies.


19. Death Warrant (1990)
Whee! JC is Quebecois! He plays a detective investigating a serial killer. JC goes undercover to solve some prison murders (with the aid of a three-way inmate bromance) and by the end some decently choreographed fighting goes down (though not enough, really), culminating a largely satisfyingly O-T-T climax.


20. Lionheart (1990)
Once again, JC is in the Foreign Legion. This time he escapes and makes it to the States and becomes a fighter on a shady underground circuit. Prepare yourself for split-kicks and interracial bromance! I suspect but can not guarantee that there was some rear nudity. My notes also say there were "leotards", but I can't recall how those actually fit in.


21. Kickboxer (1989)
I love a good fight movie, though this one was just okay. The highlights were that it had tons of training montages, and JC was actually allowed to be Belgian! Holy shit, what an idea! Super-bonus, JC performed splits using a special training device! It also featured a bromance (emphasis on the bro) to be reckoned with plus an additional interracial bromance, a soundtrack to be defied, and one weird zip-up-coveralls-tanktop you have to see for yourself.



22. Universal Soldier: The Return (1999)
JC is back as everybody's favorite Cajun war vet turned super-secret government killing machine. No Dolph Lundgren, but instead you get WWE wrestler Goldberg as the baddie. Goldberg's acting makes JC look like Sir Lawrence Olivier. There is a super-lame evil computer that takes over the top secret government facility, a total HAL-from-2001 rip-off. And there's an adorable child in peril.


23. Maximum Risk (1996)
I honestly don't remember much about this one…I know it's set in Europe and JC plays a man who finds out he had a twin when he discovers said twin's dead body. The brother was a cop who was murdered and JC has to pretend to be him in order to unravel the mystery. Sadly, a bit forgettable, though that film still pictured left sure looks exciting…


24. Knock Off (1998)
Oh Lordy, Knock Off… I had to bump this one up from the depths of the gutter because my husband passionately flip-flopped and decided he liked it. We watched it in two installments because the first time around we both lost the will to live. It co-stars Rob Reiner in a love/hate bromance with JC and the plot revolves around counterfeit designer jeans. In Hong Kong. With explosive terrorist devices hidden in them which asplode with green smoke. I grudgingly admit it had a few innovative fight scenes, but it was also wincingly slapstick and featured a token sassy black lady.


25. Wake of Death (2004)
If I remember correctly, there was some hot sexxoring (and hence rear-nudity) at the start of this movie…then JC's immigration official wife [rather unprofessionally] brings home a refugee girl from a bust and ends up murdered by the Chinese mob. A lot of people end up murdered, actually, and JC has to avenge them all and save the little girl.


26. Universal Soldier: Regeneration (2009)
Set in the Eastern Bloc, this film's got very little action, and very little JC, actually. Very little Dolph Lundgren too, which is a waste. JC's stunts are still solid even though he's getting older, but his role is dull and the movie is generally boring, though nicely filmed. Bonus: I thought the bad guy was sexy—fighter Andrei "The Pit Bull" Arlovski. JC is once again Cajun.


27. Replicant (2001)
Weird one…and nearly another twin flick. JC plays two unlikable characters, one a creepy Norman Bates-ian momma's boy serial killer and the other a "replicant"—a borderline retarded clone engineered from the killer's DNA to allegedly help track the killer down. The real protagonist is not JC-as-retard but a crusty detective overseeing the case. The only bonus here is the unexpected (though my husband totally predicted it) fucktarded romantic twist at the very end… Cannot tell you how deeply I questioned my marriage when my husband called that ending.


28. Breakin' (1984)
Rated low because it's really not a JCVD movie, though JC's role as an unnamed extra is priceless. I'm not one to mock the man, but check it out if you want to see a young JC grinning and dancing in a unitard, fresh off the plane from Brussels to Hollywood. And if you're looking to watch a better period movie about break-dancing, check out Beat Street.


29. Black Eagle (1988)
An oddity, in that JC is not the star. The lead is played by Kung Fu star Sho Kosugi, but young JC, a minor villain, steals a lot of Sho's thunder. With some meager bonus points for campiness, this movie is a bit blah overall but ties with Time Cop for Most Extreme Use of a Split.


30. The Hard Corps (2006)
Oh sweet fuck, prepare to be insulted. JC plays a bodyguard / bodyguard trainer for a sassy black lady's rap star brother and his entourage. You're never once told what city or state you're in, and JC's accent isn't acknowledged or explained. It's only a couple training montages that keep it from falling to the bottom of the pile, plus a bit of bromance.


31. Second in Command (2006)
I nearly put this one last as it's just plain boring. JC doesn't get to fight at all really, and the plot isn't very dynamic. Eensty points for being set in the Eastern Bloc.


32. Street Fighter: The Movie (1995)
Comes in dead-last because it is a) super insulting to even a child's intelligence and b) features very little fighting, street or otherwise. I'll forgive a movie many things if it has good martial arts sequences, and this one did not. JC's talents were wasted and even Raul Julia couldn't save the film…for that matter, neither could Kylie Minogue. The film is set in Hong Kong and JC is freakishly American, emblazoned with an unconvincing stars and stripes tattoo, yet no one acknowledges his Belgian accent… I can't in good conscience recommend this to anyone. It's so bad it's not even camp. It also has a majorly corny ending that made my soul hurt.

And that's it, folks. Sorry to put you through that, but I hope you'll all leave your desks feeling a little wiser and a little more endeared to old JCVD. I strongly urge you, the next time you're torn between Van Damme and Seagal, to err on the side of JC, the side not afraid to take a punch, or to kick a tiger, or to bite the head off a rattler, or to show some ass. Et merci de votre attention.