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NAZI LOVE CAMP 27 (aka LOVE CAMP 27/SS LOVE CAMP 27, 1976). For what it's worth, this is probably one of the better Italian Nazi films that cashed in on the Ilsa films. It's played very seriously, and more closely resembles a cheesy melodrama, rather than a hard-core exploitation film. Sirpa Lane plays a Jewish woman sent to a concentration camp and to be a prostitute. She catches the eye of the camp commander (who doesn't mind being bit, whipped, and tied up) and becomes his mistress. He then makes her the madam of a brothel that caters to German officers. It all leads to an unsurprisingly grim ending. The plot is completely absurd, but there's wall-to-wall sleaze, rape, constant nudity, and, I think most sleaze fans will appreciate the unasked-for hardcore sex inserts. Co-writer Gianfranco Clerici was the Mozart of Italian exploitation, as he had a hand in countless classics in the 70s and 80s. The film was directed by Mario Caiano, who made several of these films, and at least tries to make it look like he has a budget.
NECROMANIA (1971). It's Ed Wood's final film (not counting porno loops) and it's pathetic. Made for $20 and starring bottom-of-the-barrel exploitation/porn couple Ric Lutze and Rene Bond it features the duo going to "Madame Heles'" mansion for some kind of sex treatment which leads to ridiculous scenes of people licking each others' thighs and Lutze ending up in Madame Heles' coffin in the non-ending. This has most of the bad takes right in there, so you get to see half the cast breaking up in laughter at one point or another. Because of RE/Search #10 people thought this was a porno, but no such luck.
NEKROMANTIK (1987). When I first saw this movie I was pretty impressed, but on second viewing it seems pretty amateurish now. It has some good ideas, and at least it isn't a spoof, but director Jorg Buttgereit and crew's tendency to be pretentious and tedious when they run out of ideas is a problem. Basically it's a twisted love story between a guy, a girl and a skeletal corpse, when the girl leaves the guy he goes crazy and kills himself. Daktari Lorenz plays Rob, a reasonable guy who works for Joe's Street cleaning Agency, which cleans up dead bodies. He takes home body parts for his girlfriend (Beatrice M.) who bathes in blood. He eventually brings home an entire body and they have a ménage a toi, but he loses it when his girl leaves him (and takes the body) so he watches a slasher movie, strangles a hooker in a graveyard when he can't get it up, and de-cranializes the caretaker when he stumbles upon (in the words of Anton LeVay) "this tell-tale tableaux of horror." He has some weird-ass dreams, goes home and, in a Mishima-inspired ending, commits hara-kiri while his dick shoots out semen that becomes blood. The whole thing is extremely bizarre, but looks a lot like a pretentious student film with horror elements, a lot of the editing is horrible, and the most interesting things are never really developed, as if Buttgereit was more interested in confusing his audience than anything else. Some of the stuff in here is more gross than sick, but I still like the ending and the sappy romantic music and Lorenz. Buttgereit's best film (by far) was Schramm.
THE NEW ONE-ARMED SWORDSMAN (1973). This is easily the best martial-arts film I have ever seen, its easily the equal of Hara-Kiri or Samurai Rebellion, and may be the highly prolific Chang Cheh's masterpiece. Basically an in-name-only remake of Jimmy Wang Yu's One Armed Swordsman (1967, the movie that helped to inaugurate the chop-socky era in Hong Kong); David Chiang drops his usual cocky persona and was never more intense than here, playing legendary swordsman Le Lei, he is framed for a robbery by a wicked marital arts teacher, Lung, who hides behind his reputation as a "hero" to control a band of ruthless bandits. Le is challenged to a duel by the man he supposed to have robbed, and he ends up losing to Lung. Before the duel they had agreed that the loser would cut off his own arm, and Chiang does just that and retires from the world, becoming a taciturn waiter at an out-of-the-way inn where he is regularly bullied and humiliated, his only friend being a pretty local girl who comes to the inn to buy wine. One day though, a wandering master swordsman (Ti Lung, in one of his many roles opposite Chiang) comes to town and begins to investigate the bandits. At the inn he intervenes to save the girl, Pa Chow, from the bandits, but notices that the one-armed waiter seems to have a great deal of fighting ability that he represses. Finally, after Pa Chow is nearly kidnapped by the bandits, Ti figures out Le's identity, the two become "brothers" and Ti explains his desire to retire, while Chiang plans to marry Pa Chow. Unfortunately for Ti, he is invited to the fortress of the bandits, and is tricked into fighting a duel with Hero Lung. He is defeated, but refuses to (as Chiang did) cut off his arm, and is slaughtered (in a particularly bloody fashion) by the bandits. Chiang hears of his death and swears revenge, and in a simply awe-inspiring showdown takes on a small army of bandits on top of Hero Lung and his three-sided battle irons, whom he defeats in spectacular and brilliant fashion. Of course, the plot is the grandest sort of melodrama found in most places, the disgraced warrior, the cocky upstart, the evil-yet seemingly respectable villain, is something found in innumerable films from both Hong Kong and Japan, yet in many ways this resembles (down to some of the music) a spaghetti western, especially in the pure venality of the villains, who are not only evil but cowardly too (not to mention most of the people the heroes run across, who abuse and humiliate Chiang, but run away as soon as he fights back), "Hero" Lung, especially is an inspired creation, a local folk hero who uses his reputation to merely enhance his nefarious activities (like destroying every talented swordsman who passes by). The starkness of Chang Cheh's films is here too, especially in the final sequence, as Chiang walks down an empty bridge that suddenly fills with warriors, or Lung and Chiang's final duel carried out amidst the corpses of swordsmen Chiang had just cut down.
THE NEW YORK RIPPER [Lo Squartatore di New York] (1982). The funniest things I've read are the web sites devoted to talking about Lucio Fulci as if he were a transcendent genius on the level of Beethoven or something. Have any of his disciples ever really watched one of his movies? This is one of his best, its an incredibly stupid and misogynistic movie and is one of the most incoherent of all the incoherent gore movies. The first thirty minutes or so are great: an overly-enthusiastic guy takes his dog for a walk ("oh good girl…I'm so proud of you!") and the dog finds a severed hand in the bushes and the credits roll over this image stolen from Yojimbo while terrible funk music plays. A middle-aged detective (Jack Hadley) investigates and talks to the victim's landlord who says a man with a voice that sounded like a duck called her. A woman crashes her bike into a guy's car and they fight ("you stupid women should stay home where you belong!"). They both get on a ferry when a POV guy shows and knifes the broad while quacking like a duck!! The detective sees his whore ("don't be a stupid bitch!") and the killer calls him, and, in the most amazing scene in film history taunts him in his Donald Duck voice ("are you shooting your load in that whore of yours?!")!!!! Then an ugly swarthy guy goes to a live 42nd Street sex show and watches a woman in the audience masturbate to the whole thing. Then the woman who was in the show is stabbed with a broken bottle by the quacking killer. From then on out "sexy" women are killed by the duck psycho, while the idiotic detective goes to a queer psychologist. One scene has a woman getting her eye slashed by the killer while the detective runs five feet and almost has a heart attack! The strong primary colors suggest Fulci was trying to copy Dario Argento (the high-priest of incoherent gore) and failed miserably, though amusingly. The killer's motivation is stupendous; I can't believe the actors can talk about "the duck personality" with a straight face. It took four people to write this fucking thing?! Incredible!
NIGHT OF THE BLOODY APES [La Horriplante Bestia Humana] (1968). A joyously terrible movie that could've only been made in Mexico features a caring mad doctor who's son is dying of leukemia; fresh out of ideas he heads to the zoo with his scarred, limping, but agreeable assistant ("yes master") and shoots a guy in a gorilla suit with a tranquilizer gun and takes him to his basement lab. Showing a lack of good judgment surprising even for a mad doctor he transplants the gorilla heart into his son (the "medical" explanation is incredible) and, of course, real open-heart surgery footage is shown. Wouldn't you know it, his son is transformed into a muscular guy with a really crummy mask who runs around tearing off women's clothes and killing people. Meanwhile a cop with a wrestler girlfriend investigates. On top of the aforementioned surgery footage, nudity, and wrestling there are copious amounts of not-so-special gore "effects" that mainly consist of interchangeable close-ups of gorilla/man's eyes and orange blood being smeared on faces, as well as the single worst film decapitation ever (beating Andy Milligan's Carnage by a yard). Watch the end when you can see the grass in a "park" sliding around and a ladder carelessly left in the shot (watch out for the phantom clock, too). Besides the inspired ape mask (which seems to get progressively worse as the film progresses) the best scenes are the ape-man leisurely walking around in his pajamas. Best line: "its probable more and more of late you're watching on your television those pictures of terror" which beats out "prepare the gorilla" by an eyelash. Where have you gone, Rene Cardona?

NIGHT OF THE ZOMBIES [Inferno dei Morti Viventi] (1981). This is one of my all-time favorites. Of all the incoherent gore films I've seen this is probably the most incoherent. In a way it's like an old Monogram movie with gore and nudity: just as cheap, just as lovably shoddy. If only they got stock footage of Bela Lugosi talking about "glandular extractions". Scientists are working on a way to stem the tide of overpopulation that's sweeping the globe, so they develop a virus that makes people crave human flesh! That's…reasonable, I guess. Unfortunately a flesh hungry rat chomps on a scientist while his buddy stands by and calmly watches; later the rat victim becomes a zombie and munches on another scientist while his friends stand around unmindful of the sudden rise in cannibalism. This sets the stage for the rest of the film in more ways than one. Enter an elite SWAT team (well, "elite" to the point of horribly botching the operation and getting killed) who are sent to the wilds of New Guinea to bust out the industrial sized can of whup ass (all four of them). While there they meet a pair of journalists, and we're treated to the acting of Evelyn Margit Newton, who makes Edith Massey look like Meryl Streep. She quickly goes native by taking off her clothes for the cameras. They are then menaced by loads of stock footage (love those elephants) and even more cheap gore. Surprisingly the ending finds the zombies invading the civilized world, as well as Newton's head being replaced by a mannequin's that's smashed by the zombies. I think it's a plea for racial tolerance that Trotsky would be proud of (and I bet Richard Burton would've appeared in this if they paid him enough).

Of course, our heroes are pretty heroic, as heroes often are. Just take Our Leader, Mike, a fish-lipped guy who seems to have come from the Bronx by way of Florence, he's extremely concerned about his men's balls, and doesn't want them to get wasted by unseen ball wasters. Or take his trusty right hand man Vincent, a guy with a block head who's voice resembles a spokesmodel for Brill Cream, he's a real ladies man, trying to pick up on Lea by offering her chewing tobacco ("it's great once you get used to chewing it"?) unfortunately Vincent isn't exactly a rocket scientist, and can't come to terms with the whole shoot-the-zombies-in-the-head thing, but since he's such a great man's man he's the last one to die. Next comes Osborne, who's kind of the Mickey Dolenz of the group, always ready with a smile and a laugh, he's kind of a mischievous little elf who's always goading his bestus buddy Santoro into doing all sorts of nutty kooky crazy next door neighbor kind of things. Osborne is almost as fascinating as Santoro (almost), and his death is an ode to vaudeville, as he puts on a tutu and a big gigantic novelty hat and starts to dance around with a cane, surely director Bruno Mattei's loving evocation (Fellini-like) of his childhood infatuation with Charlie Chaplin. Unfortunately this doesn't save Osborne from being eaten by zombies, seemingly symbolic of the final destruction of the vaudeville ethos by heartless modern machinery. But the Hamlet, the Falstaff, of this story is surely Santoro, a party-animal of epic proportions who's mythic presence touches on all aspects of modern life and the metaphysics of existence. Let's not forget the other, civilian half of our agon, globe-trotting journalist Lea and her trusty cameraman Max. Lea's genius as a journalist lies in her ugliness and lack of acting ability, this allows her to slip in, unnoticed into any situation, even disguising herself as a tribeswoman and infiltrating a Papua New Guinea tribe and allowing her painted face to comment on all the brutality she sees. And, let us not forget, that in the end it is Lea who uncovers the Hope Center's nefarious plot to create cannibalism among the masses, despite the fact that she has no evidence or documentation, or for that matter any real reliable proof one way or the other. She's a true journalist and a credit to her craft, unfortunately her tongue being torn out and her head being smashed would seem to impede her ability to file her story. Max on the other hand is a pretty fun-loving guy who takes things as they come. He's kind of a dreamer, and I think he's the poet of the group. He wants to go to Athens and become a Yanni impersonator, and start releasing mood music to mellow out to. But first and foremost Max is an artist, and can't resist getting his big shot, even at the cost of his own life. It's too bad that he cannot film is own demise, which robs this noble man of his greatest shot.

Some Night of the Zombies poetry for you:

Cretin 1: She may not know much about chemistry but in bed her reactions are terrific. Cretin 2: I'm not surprised with that cute little ass. Cretin 1: Ha, I'm a tit man myself.

Phil Donahue look-a-like scientist, after several people have been eaten by zombies and a green cloud of toxic vapor is floating around: Experimental project Operation Sweet Death must be considered a complete failure.

Our leader, Mike: [dubbed by that guy with the heavy New York accent] Just be careful you don't get your balls wasted.

Santoro: What are the broads like there?
Vincent: Naked and wild.

Santoro or Osborne (I forget which): Look at that one [referring to a skeleton] he looks like you trying to shit a brick.

Our leader, Mike: It's hot as a horse's ass at fly time and I don't like the heat!

Santoro: I wonder how long these jerks have been dead?

Caring father: Dumb broad, the living image of a modern mother!

Max, in one of his more lucid moments: Maybe they're drunk, or drugged, or maybe they're a leper colony, I don't think they intend any harm.
Newton [dubbed by the same woman who dubbed all of the women characters in Italian horror films]: I…don't…know…I wouldn't be so sure!

Our leader, Mike: You're beginnin' to bug me kiddo, just don't bust my balls.
Max: You son of a bitch, I'll show you. [throws a weak-ass bitch slap and is gut slammed]
Our leader, Mike: You got the message now baby or do you wanna keep talkin'?

Vincent: Suppose we met at a cocktail party in Washington and…we liked each other, we'd be in the sack by now. [dubbed by the guy who always talked too fast and then paused, then talked too fast again]

Vincent: He must be nuts, he's speakin' to those gooks! [huh? who writes this stuff?]

Witticisms from Santoro: Get back to your graves! Die! Die! Damn you! Filthy scumbags! Die! Just keep calm kiddies, I'm one baby they're not going to bite. Get back! I'm getting sick of you, you ballbreakers! Do as you're told! Fuck off! Come on you mothers! Can you walk on water?

Witticism from Max: What kind of commandos are you?

Virginal (?) ho to boyfriend: If I let you do it you won't marry me.

Oh yeah, can anyone explain to me the sensitive piano music at the end? Did Bruno Mattei also see Rollerball before he made this too? Come to think of it, is this whole movie just a homage to 2001: A Space Odyssey? Just think, the SWAT guys come all this way and at the end they don't even know their mission. Now, granted, there's no HAL 9000 computer, or good special effects, or stirring music, or competent direction, or massive popular following, but there is a metaphysical ending, as Mike becomes one with the zombie hoard and starts to resemble a giant monolith. I say, stick that up your pipe and smoke it Arthur C. Clarke, Bruno Mattei's a poetic genius! But more than that, there does seem to be some connection to the metaphysical in this film. For instance, Santoro's constant games of keep-away with the zombies seem to have in them an element of the fatalistic, sort of like the morosely sentimental sailor in Mishima's The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With the Sea, Santoro's essentially romantic exuberance finds its outlet in childish games of hide the sausage with the living impaired. Yet Santoro's most ambiguous moment comes near the end of his odyssey, after the death of his buddy Osborne, sitting alone in the back of the Range Rover the seemingly indestructible Santoro suddenly removes his only trustworthy companion, his blue cap, which he turns around, laughing, and puts it back on again. It's a tour de force of powerful existentialistic emotions. But I can't help but realize that Santoro is a deeply flawed, dare I say, even, esoteric figure. Can any of us really come to terms with his manic episodes? His keep-away with the zombies suggests a need to come into contact with the death instinct, but witness the demise of this brave man, when his mirror image (which is to say opposite) Max is dragged into an elevator and devoured by zombies Santoro suddenly finds himself missing his weaker half, his gallantry is lost, he stands helpless as the zombies very slowly start to get up and very slowly start to reach for him in order to pull him into the elevator (fortunately we are spared the details of Santoro's ultimate death, and are only left with his blood-curdling screams). Obviously this inaction is symbolic for something, as Bruno Mattei was too great a scenarist and filmmaker to allow such sloppiness for sloppiness' sake. No, Santoro's loss of his ineffectual mirror image Max robs him of his true self, in order to fill the void left by Max's loss he must assume the figure, nay, the very visage of Max, and stand idly by as the hero that was SANTORO is dragged off to his own 'zombie inferno.' Who dares to say that Santoro is a weakling? Damn them! Die! Die! Damn you! Ballbreakers! Say Santoro's weak! Go back to where you came from! Go to your own kind you zombie gooks! I'm tired of your zombie ballbreaking! Quit busting my balls! My balls are broken now, are you happy? Look what you did, just look at that mess! No, look at me! Look at what you did! Shame on you, shame zombie, shame! How would you like it if I broke your balls, eh? Maybe I'll waste your balls! [throws a bitch slap] Now baby, we're talkin' my game here. Put on this tutu and goofy hat and dance around some! Now, how do you like your balls to be busted, huh? You scumbag son of a bitch! You stupid broad! You modern 'zombie' women are just a bunch of ballbreakers! You know how I feel about ballbreakers, don't you! Did I tell you to stop dancing? Take this cane and do your best Charlie Chaplin impression! Listen good, baby, 'cause I'm sayin' this once, I'm one kiddo who's balls aren't gonna be broken by some ballbreakin' zombie gook ballbreaker, capiche, er, understand? Ballbreaker! Breaking balls! SANTORO FOREVER!!! VIVA LOS SANTORO!!!!

it's fabulous!

THE NIGHTS OF TERROR (Burial Ground, 1980). While everybody points to Bruno Mattei's Night of the Zombies as the worst of the Italian cycle of guntmunchers, I'd say that by far and away this surreally bad zombie epic is not only the worst Italian zombie film I've seen (this doesn't count the crap churned out by Eurocine, seeing as it's a French company), it's also one of the worst Italian horror films of the period. It boasts among other things, horrible dubbing and acting, the worst music score for a horror film imaginable, and completely indifferent direction from Andrea Bianchi, who obviously had no idea how to make a horror film (or, considering his thoroughly shoddy output, any film in general). A generic "professor" who looks like Alexsander Solzenitsyn, researching ancient Etruscan magic somehow raises the dead. As a zombie with a paper mache face wanders towards him he vainly cries out, "no, I'm your friend" and is promptly eaten. Cut from this less-than-stirring opening to some of the worst (not to mention inappropriate) jazz music as the plot unfolds. For some reason a group of especially stupid people come to an isolated villa, why, I have no idea, it's never really explained, apparently to get eaten by zombies I suppose. Anyway, they instantly set out having sex with each other, and Bianchi can indulge in his favorite thing in the world: close-ups of people lamely humping each other while the dubbers insert various "oohs" and "aahs". Fortunately this is interrupted by the greatest man to ever live: Peter Bark. If you haven't seen this movie you are missing out on Barkmania, this guy is incredible, according to producer Gabriele Crisanti (in an interview included on the excellent Shriek Show DVD) Bark was an Italian guy (original name unknown) who was actually 25 or so, but because of some horrible genetic mutation, had the body of a child (but the weirdest fucking face), and since Italian law prohibited minors from working in movies like this one, he plays the little kid son of one of my favorite people, Maria Angela Giordano. The whole relationship between these two is seriously Freudian, maybe since Bianchi was stuck with this weird man-boy he decided to have some fun with it, or maybe this movie is just a complete freak show to begin with. Anyway, Bark (playing "Michael") walks in on his mom having sex with his ugly stepfather. Now, I like Giordano, as she was the ubiquitous middle-aged slut from numerous Italian B-pictures of the era, but I always thought she was pretty sexy, but watching her hump the moron playing her husband, complete with brillo-pad hair is too much, no wonder Bark gets mad at this. Actually, the weirdest part comes just before this emotionally scarring event, as Giordano checks up on the supposedly sleeping Bark, but as soon as she leaves the camera zooms into his face and his eyes open and go all buggy. What the hell is that supposed to signify? Anyway…the next morning everybody gets up to have sex and explore the villa, and we have typical slam-fisted editing, like zombies getting out of their graves poorly cut between scenes of frolicking (the music even abruptly changes between the cuts). As the various unattractive couples make out the zombies attack. While a bald guy makes out with nominal "star" Karen Well (whoever she is) a zombie gets a little peeping in, leading to the legendary remark, "whatever it is, it's not human!" Well, actually, I think it is human, just…oh, never mind. From there on out the zombies attack and eat various cast members. Now, people in zombie movies tend to be pretty stupid, right? but these people just take the cake. They are the sort of people who, despite the fact that they are being attacked by zombified Etruscians who've been dead for a few thousand years, just stand there while the zombies take fifteen or twenty minutes to attack. "Gee honey, I wonder what he wants?" "Whatever it is, we'd better stand around so he can get close enough to tell us!" Suffice to say, they make the SWAT team from Night of the Zombies look like the Delta Force in comparison. While the sexed-up "young people" (who all look to be pushing 40) run from the zombies, the fucked-up Giordano family has their own problems, not only more creepy Oedipal stuff from Bark, but they are having target practice in an art studio, oh, and they're attacked by zombies. Brillo pad step-dad threatens the zombies for about 20 minutes before lamely squeezing off a few shots and getting eaten for his troubles (this is the first problem with the movie, most of the zombies have jaws that are completely rotted away, how can they eat anything?). Bark and Giordano meet up with the rest, and despite the fact that there are two or three zombies lounging around their cars, they decide the best place to go is into the villa. While boarding up the place, the expendable maid is sent to "check the place out", alone, with a candle. Bright people here folks. She falls prey to the most spectacular zombie attack in history, as one of the undead practices some zombie-fu and throws a dart at the maid which pins her hand to the wall!!!! Fucking incredible! Genius! Anyway, now the zombies have to have to figure out how to get at the delicious meat, since the maid is on the second floor, leaning out the window, well, they solve that problem by employing a trusty sickle, which they use to decapitate her. Of course, the guy who eventually finds her solves the whole problem by tossing her body out the window to the zombies. A swell guy, later the zombies repay him by eating him. Well, if you have zombie-fu you're bound to have a "homage" to Fulci's Zombie, which you have by a lady getting her face dragged through a broken window, an ode to Olga Karlatos' famed demise from the original Zombie. Unfortunately this zombiefied chick eats Peter Bark! Nooooo! This is after the freakiest scene in this freaky movie, as Bark starts kissing his "mom" and feels her up "oh mommy, I need to feel you close to me" Jebus what is up with this movie! But after Bark bites it something goes out of the movie, and it lacks the weird drive of the previous scenes. From then on the remaining party animals are stalked by zombies, until the spectacular conclusion when Bark returns as a zombie and bites Giordano's tit off!

All of this is weird, admittedly, in fact, parts of it (ninja zombie, tit biting) remind me of later everything-and-the-kitchen-sink Hong Kong movies, all this one needed was some AIDS jokes and Peter Bark lighting his farts on fire. None-the-less, this movie is oddly uninspired, for all the seriously strange bits, it is so standard and clichéd in its handling of the zombie mythos, there isn't real mixing of genre like you generally see in Italian films from the period (like Night of the Zombies), unless you count the soft-core gropings as an attempt at a sex film (a genre that Bianchi seemed more comfortable in). Even in the new DVD, which is quite clear and sparkling, compared to the awful Vestron VHS version that was dark and muddy, the film's insipidness and ineptitude shine through most brightly. I don't know, even with zombie-fu, and midget incest, this movie leaves me cold.

NINJA IN THE DEADLY TRAP (1984). One of the best late entries in the chop-socky sweepstakes, directed by the phenomenal Kwok Tsui. The minimal plot serves as an excuse for fight after fight, deals with the son of a Chinese general getting three kung-fu masters together to protect his father (Ti Lung, his career pretty much faded away at this point, waiting for revival) from a ruthless band of ninjas. Along the way our heroes get into fights about every three seconds or so. Not much more to say, but this is highly recommended stuff.
NINJA WARS (1982). One of the oddball Japanese films that showed up on video during the initial boom of the 80s. It stars Hiroyuki Sanada as a ninja out to avenge his wife, who is caught up in the machinations of an evil lord who joins forces with a black magician. There is some cool stuff here, ninjas who vomit acid, a head bobbing on a geyser of neck blood, head transplants, and a bizarre suicide/crucifixion ending, but the dubbing is just awful (being that it is colorless, unlike the strange dubbing to be found in so many Hong Kong movies). I think this might be a re-cut US version of Black Magic Wars, a movie that also features Sonny Chiba (here, credited as Sony Chiba, and is merely the action director), who seems to have been edited out of this version. As I’ve said before, bleh.
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