Top 5 Wings Hauser Movies

Top 5 Wings Hauser Movies

Well, this is long overdue.  Those who have followed my blog or perused my offerings for RVA Magazine are familiar with my "Top 5" pieces.  And those who know me best are well aware that I've been a big fan of Wings Hauser since I was a teenager haunting my local video stores and carrying on a torrid relationship with cable television.  No bullshit, there are framed photos of Wings on display in my home, a testament to both my fascination with this bold talent and my wife's love for me.    

A star athlete who took his moniker from the position he played in football ("wingback"), Hauser embraced his Hollywood roots and made the jump to acting at an early age.  Known for his over the top antics and his ability to portray lunatic heavies or tough-guy heroes alike with profound intensity, Wings became a true blue B movie icon.  Not only that, but many may be surprised at the depths of his artistry.  In addition to his work on the screen, Hauser has also directed motion pictures.  Hell, he even cut an album for RCA (Your Love Keeps Me Off the Streets) in 1975.

I consider myself an authority where his filmography is concerned, and working up this Top 5 had me sweating bullets.  If you combine his work in film and television, Wings has well over a hundred acting credits to his name.  There are some fine pictures and a dazzling array of bravura performances within those ranks.  Sometimes this blogging business is a tough gig, good people, but after a lot of deliberation, I have made my picks.

Top 5 Wings Hauser Movies - #5) Deadly Force (1983)

Honestly, this one could aptly be described as equal parts "rogue cop hunting a serial killer" flick and "rogue cop hunting a serial killer" parody a la Airplane!.  Yes, Deadly Force is pretty fucking ridiculous.  It's also highly entertaining, mostly due to Hauser's off the rails work as the lead.  Wings stars as Stoney Cooper (no explanation is given, so we're left to assume that his birth name is actually Stoney), an ex-cop who plays by his own rules and embodies pretty much every cliche imaginable where such heroes are concerned.  The character is outrageous, a hackneyed creation who plays the piano when he isn't using bravado and tenderness to negotiate with would-be bombers or traveling across the country to hunt down a serial killer as a favor to an old friend.  No, really.  This caricature comes courtesy of a contrived plot that piles on the excess at every turn and hits so many familiar beats that it emerges as a cinematic exercise in recycling.  However, Wings throws himself into the role with such passion, physicality, and abandon that the viewer can't help but be pulled in--even while groaning at the shameless exploitation on display.  Case in point: there's a big sequence where Stoney is nearly gunned down while taking a bath, requiring Hauser to flail around in the nude.  In slow motion.  For entirely too long.  And he's all in, peeps, devoting himself to the scene as though it were the sleazy action movie equivalent of Marc Antony's funeral speech.  It has to be seen to be fully appreciated.  It's Deadly Force, guys.  It's trashy, it's absurd, it's relentless, and it is so painfully bad that it arrives at oh so very good.  It's also a perfect example of the flamboyant machismo that made Wings a pillar of the cult cinema circuit.

Stoney Cooper, ladies and gentlemen.  You can try to take him out while he's taking a bath, but he'll roll around showing the world his soapy ass and dodging bullets, and then he'll hunt you down. 

Top 5 Wings Hauser Movies - #4) Reason to Die (1990)

Wings specialized in violent motion pictures; he usually played either a hero operating outside the law or a deranged baddie.  Reason to Die is a film he carries as the good guy while Arnold Vosloo oozes menace as a psycho who preys on prostitutes in South Africa.  Reason to Die stands out for two reasons.  First, while many of Hauser's films were hampered by meager budgets or shoddy craftsmanship, this is one slick production free of such shortcomings.  In particular, I think it makes great use of the setting, with the seedy underbelly of South Africa giving the filmmakers an unusual palette.  This makes some of the familiar machinations of the plot feel less derivative, and it gives the piece as a whole a different feel.  Secondly, it may just be the most violent of Hauser's movies.  Vosloo is largely responsible for this, with his twisted killer notching a body count that would make Jason Vorhees proud.  These killings come in the most gratuitous fashion, with the picture placing a shameless emphasis on titillation and terror.  Wings bashes plenty of heads together on the hunt for this prolific madman, enduring intense scrutiny from the local authorities every step of the way.  This is a fast-paced affair, and it is strictly designed to deliver the goods where fistfights, gunfights, and murder are concerned.  Even for this sort of cult cinema thriller, Reason to Die is a bit savage, and forgive me, but I do see that as a selling point.  Having said that, there is also a commendable effort made to inject some emotional heft into the proceedings, and Wings surely makes the most of this opportunity.  It's almost enough to give this Elliot Canner character legitimate depth.  Almost.  He shows some heart, but remains too damn badass to feel like anything other than a gritty B movie hero.  Shit, toward the end of the picture, he uses his lover as bait in a desperate bid to bring Vosloo down.  At the end of the day, Reason to Die is no masterpiece, but it could be seen as a master class in sadistic exploitation and sleazy thrills.  Wings is at his brazen best throughout, and Reason to Die is a perfect example of his no holds barred brand of entertainment.

There's a whole lot of violence going down in this bloody 1990 thriller.
Also: this is the face your lover makes when you use them as a bait to land a serial killer.

Top 5 Wings Hauser Movies - #3) Siege of Firebase Gloria (1989)

The third picture to make my list is probably the best Vietnam movie you never saw.  Now, this picture is light-years from landmark offerings like Apocalypse Now or Platoon, but ranks among the very best of the Vietnam features produced in the absence of a visionary director and a big budget.  There's a lot of trash in this vein, but there are also movies like Go Tell the Spartans or The Boys in Company C.  Siege of Fireplace Gloria belongs among those outings, and one of its biggest assets is a strong performance from Wings as DiNardo, a steely Marine who unravels during the Tet Offensive.  Playing a sidekick of sorts to the great R. Lee Ermey, Wings shows a bit of subtlety here and there (not exactly his trademark), and also gets to display a bit more range than usual.  It's a rare supporting part for Hauser and an even rarer starring role for Ermey.  This pairing is a big win in my book--they play well off of one another, and if either of these parts had been miscast, the movie itself would have misfired and descended into the ranks of those lesser war movies.  Gritty and well-rounded, Siege of Firebase Gloria doesn't sanctify its heroes or demonize its villains.  Many have come forward to hail it as one of the more realistic depictions of the horror and confusion that defined this particular military conflict.  It focuses on tough men making tough choices in the toughest of conditions, and in doing so, it paints a picture that is both grim and inspiring.  Siege of Firebase Gloria is not a typical Wings flick at all, but it is one of the better movies that he appeared in, and it shows a different side of this cult cinema stalwart. 

This would be one of those forgettable war flicks if not for these two guys, who play extremely well off of one another.

Top 5 Wings Hauser Movies - #2) Mutant a.k.a Night Shadows (1984)

Note: What follows is my Short Attention Span Review of Mutant from March 15, 2015.  I thought about writing a new capsule for this Top 5, but there's a segment in this review spotlighting Bo Hopkins that ranks among my favorite bits that I have ever included in one of my reviews.  I couldn't pass up the chance to share it once more.

I'm pretty sure that Mutant (a.k.a. Night Shadows) is a bad movie.  It may even be a terrible movie.  I'm also going to give it a decent grade here because I believe that it is very entertaining.  Honestly, it may actually be a good movie--fairly good anyway.  Forgive me, sometimes it's hard to tell with these schlocky horror flicks.  I am sure of this: if it is good, it's not very good, and if it is bad, it's of the "so bad that it's good" variety.  The leads are Wings Hauser and Bo Hopkins, so that definitely earns the picture some credit in my book.  I'm a big fan of Wings, and I feel that his B-movie legacy is the stuff of legend.  He has also appeared in some major films, to include his amazing performance in Vice Squad, a personal favorite of mine.  Bo Hopkins was a charismatic and likable performer who always did a great job of playing Bo Hopkins.  Not surprisingly, he plays Bo Hopkins well in Mutant.  Wings and Bo hold this creative shocker together despite some flaws, most of which pertain to the lackluster creature effects and make-up.  Yet there are some decent scares, and the plot sprinkles a few surprises in the mix to keep us on our toes throughout.  There are a host of maniacal hillbillies that our heroes must deal with when they aren't on the run from a new breed of zombie/vampire/mutant/I'm-not-really-sure-exactly-what-the-hell-these-things-are.  These shambling mystery monsters are the result of the reckless disposal of volatile waste, making Mutant another of those "Man fucks with the ecosystem, man gets eaten" stories they taught us about in high school.  Only man doesn't get eaten this time out--it's a twist!  These things that resemble sick people wearing Alice Cooper make-up have slits on their palms that ooze acidic slime.  If they touch you and get this perilous slime on you, you get to join the club.  Hey, it's different, and it ramps up the tension considerably during the rollicking finale.  With zombies, you can fight them off so long as they don't sink their teeth into you, but with these things, you're toast if they manage to touch you.  The direction from John "Bud" Cardos (the man responsible for Kingdom of the Spiders) is solid, and the film zips along.  For whatever reason, I'm actually really fond of Mutant, and while some will surely view it as a failure, I'm definitely going to give it a passing grade.

Note: I gave it a "C."  Still, it's a very entertaining C.  I chose it for the second spot on this list because it is one of Hauser's most enjoyable features.  This is one of those movies I can watch over and over again.  It's far from perfect in so many regards, but it is perfectly entertaining.  Wings is at his very best, and of all the films where he got to wear the white hat, I would pick this part as his most likable hero.  It's also one of a handful of such films where he's more of a normal guy than some absolute badass, but he does handle himself pretty well once the shit hits the fan.  If you dig horror films of this era and want to see Wings kill it as a good guy taking on asshole hillbillies and kooky mutant/zombie hybrids, Mutant is where it's at.

These guys really want to get their hands on my list of the Top 5 Wings Hauser Movies.

Top 5 Wings Hauser Movies - #1) Vice Squad (1982)

Hauser's breakthrough role remains his best performance all these years and parts later, and Vice Squad is also the best movie he ever appeared in.  It is exploitation at its very best, operating with a laser focus as a single night of savage debauchery unfolds.  Wings plays Ramrod, a psychotic pimp, and he doesn't just steal every scene he's in, he steals the entire movie.  This despite career-best performances from both Season Hubley and Gary Swanson as the de facto leads.  And Hubley and Swanson are both fully immersed and absolutely terrific in this sleazy thriller on speed, and their work also deserves high praise.  Wings is simply on another level, snarling and raging as one of the most despicable heavies the cinema has ever spawned.  The part is a perfect match for Hauser's boundless energy and formidable swagger--I would say it's a match made in heaven, but if you ask any of the hookers he ravages or rival pimps that he castrates, they'll likely dub it a match made in hell.  The script is a treasure chest brimming with kooky scenes, dope lines, potent suspense, and ferocious action.  And at least one huge laugh that comes from out of nowhere.  It's hard to believe that director Gary Sherman didn't become a household name in the industry, though horror fans may fondly recall his Raw Meat.  It's no surprise that Hauser went on to become such a presence in the motion picture industry, though it is certainly fair to wonder why he didn't secure more showcase roles in equally transcendent features.  In truth, when I started this Top 5, I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that it would culminate with Vice Squad.  I hold the film itself in high esteem, and Ramrod is one of the most darkly charismatic characters I have ever encountered.  He's a monster, but he is so dogged and Hauser is so guns-blazing intense that you almost wind up rooting for the guy.  One thing is for sure: movies are seldom so exciting as when this rampaging lunatic is running wild on the screen, and few performers have been so impressive in any role.  If you want to see Wings Hauser at his very best, dial up Vice Squad and enjoy the show.  

Note: For a more in-depth look at what may be the best exploitation movie of them all, please check out the Cult Classics from Dimension X piece I did for Vice Squad way back in 2013.

Wings Hauser rages across the screen in Vice Squad, which may be the best exploitation movie ever made.

Short Attention Span Review: Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970)

Short Attention Span Review: Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970)

Some might label this film trash.  Some might describe it as a true masterpiece.  I tend to think that both views are accurate, and the potent blend of sleaze and artistry make it one of my favorite pictures.  The story is also a medley, with Beyond the Valley of the Dolls emerging as a parody, a melodrama, a skin flick, a musical, a comedy, and even a horror movie, all rolled into one.  Written by Roger Ebert (his sole credit as a screenwriter) and directed by softcore maestro Russ Meyer, this sordid affair is populated by zany characters and buoyed by solid performances.  It's a credit to Meyer's ability as a director that even the most absurd sequences are played straight by the talent involved.  In fact, the humor born of the rampant satire embedded in the piece works because no one involved treats it as camp.  Most impressive is the editing, with Meyer cutting, and cutting, and cutting, yielding several impressive montages and numerous scenes where dozens of shots are utilized to propel the action.  There are points where Meyer may cycle through as many as forty or fifty shots in a minute, and the results aren't choppy or jolting but rather sublime.  I also have to give the music some serious props and John LaZar's work as Ronnie "Z-Man" Barzell is a joy to behold.  Finally, the movie goes off the rails in a bonkers finale that firmly solidifies this one as cinematic gold.  Beyond the Valley of the Dolls is definitely one of the sleaziest movies ever made--and I also think that it's definitely one of the best movies ever made.

Final Grade: A+

Equal parts sleazy, quixotic, and masterful, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls is wholly unique and totally entertaining.

Top 5 Movie Shootouts: #1) The Way of the Gun (finale)

In this Top 5, I've been ranking my favorite movie shootouts for you.  This comes with a disclaimer: I'm excluding war films because they don't really seem to fit with what I'm going for.  Maybe I'll do a Top 5 Combat Scenes one day to break them down.  As always, I welcome your thoughts on my selections, and I'm equally interested in hearing about your choices, so feel free to comment and share your take.

This list started with John Wick (the Red Circle) at #5, and since then I've listed The Wild Bunch (finale) at #4, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (finale) at #3, and Heat (downtown L.A.) at #2.  Now, it's time to discuss my choice for the top spot on this list, a cult classic that is near and dear to my heart.  

Top 5 Movie Shootouts: #1) The Way of the Gun (finale)

To say that I greatly enjoy The Way of the Gun would be a bit of an understatement.  If I were to list my favorite movies, it may just crack that Top 5, and it would surely be in my Top 10.  While there are many things I enjoy about the picture, the exciting and yet incredibly grim shootout that brings it to a close has to be considered its strongest asset.  As soon as I decided to put this list together, I knew that I couldn't put anything else at the very top.  To do otherwise would be disingenuous, and those who know me well will tell you that I do my best to keep it real.

While the director of The Way of the Gun, Christopher McQuarrie, isn't as much of a household name as he probably should be, critics and audiences have been much kinder to his recent work with Tom Cruise than they were to his offbeat directorial debut.  This outing came about after his script for The Usual Suspects earned him broad acclaim, and I'm not sure that a quirky yet downbeat shoot 'em up served with a healthy dose of basic criminal philosophy is what anyone expected for his first feature film.  In truth, when I watched it during its theatrical run in 2000, the final product varied greatly from my expectations.  However, since I had a blast with the picture, I never held that against it. 

Like most of the films to make this Top 5, this one combines quality direction with some terrific acting.  McQuarrie got the best performance of Ryan Phillippe's life out of him in the role of Parker, a tough guy with a penchant for mouthing off, while the one and only Benecio Del Toro is sublime as his icy counterpart, Longbaugh.  These are not likable characters, and the big gunfight that they are steadily marching toward throughout the film doesn't provide them with a likable outcome.  Oh yeah, and the weary but unwavering "bag men" who our leads square off against in this blood-soaked finale are led by none other than James Caan.

Whether the conclusion is likable or not, it is most definitely a fitting way to close out this particular film, with the riveting shootout standing as a damn-near perfect metaphor for the film as a whole.  Parker and Longbaugh are both savvy and good, and we may not like the code they live by, but we have to admire them a bit for their efforts.  Unfortunately, when they make their big play, it becomes obvious that they're just not good enough.  Fortunately, their code allows them to perish under these circumstances with their honor intact.  Hell, they went for it all and gave it their very best--and they almost pulled it off.  Like the saying goes, there's no shame in trying . . .

The cinematography is a wonderful throwback to the somber hues and the brilliant splashes of blood that made the work of directors like Leone and Peckinpah so impressive to behold.  In a way, my preference for these legends (and the inclusion of some of their best work on this list) may help to explain my fondness for this gritty sleeper.  The choreography is also excellent, with McQuarrie's brother (a former Navy Seal) giving the proceedings a serious boost in the way of technical prowess.  The gun protocol and combat tactics on display here are just as important to the overall effectiveness of the showdown as the direction and the acting.  Seriously, the final shootout in The Way of the Gun probably features more reloads than you're apt to see if you go all in for a marathon of The Cannon Group's greatest hits, and Parker and Longbaugh could have put together one hell of a clinic for properly clearing a room.

It's all a bit somber and a bit gory, and it is also quite nihilistic, but for my money, there is no finer shootout in the history of the cinema than the gloomy but painstakingly authentic* conclusion to The Way of the Gun.

*There is one gag during the big gunfight at the end where the film abandons all of the realism it has worked so hard to present and clearly lampoons a typical action film's disregard for such considerations, and this knowing wink is yet another reason I love this movie so much.

. . .

Well, there you have it.  One recent hit, three indisputable masterpieces, and one cult classic to rule them all.  If you're a fellow cinephile and you too enjoy the occasional movie shootout, do share your thoughts.

Top 5 Movie Shootouts: #3) The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (finale)

Okay, so here's the drill: in this Top 5, I'm ranking my favorite movie shootouts for you.  Many of the films set to make this list are classics that will be hard to argue, but I have no doubt that my choice for the top spot on this list will not sit well with many.  Oh well, I call them like I see them--and in this case, I'm 100% convinced that I'm right.  Also, I should point out that I'm excluding war films because they don't really seem to fit with what I'm going for here.  Maybe I'll do a Top 5 Combat Scenes one day to atone for that.  As always, I welcome your thoughts on my selections, and I'm equally interested in hearing about your choices, so feel free to drop a comment and give me your take.

 Thus far, we have John Wick (the Red Circle) at #5 and The Wild Bunch (finale) at #4.  Today, we're going with the very epitome of an exercise in style over substance at #3, and as such it depends more on landmark director Sergio Leone’s vision and flair and less on choreography and staging.  In fact, this is easily the simplest gunfight to make my list, and it features the fewest players.  Yet, as I noted a moment ago, this is an exercise in style, . . . and what an exercise in style it has proven to be. 

Top 5 Movie Shootouts: #3) The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (finale)

Clint Eastwood is a true titan of the cinema, yet he was basically just some up-and-comer with a lean physique prior to his work with Leone.  I’m not sure that he or anyone else realized just how big of an impact those so-called spaghetti westerns would have on the film industry, but Leone’s daring juxtapositions and his grandeur would usher in a whole new era for one of Hollywood’s most beloved genres.  It is entirely possible that no western has had as much impact or cultural significance as The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, and the shootout that brings this masterpiece to an end remains thoroughly enchanting.

As Eastwood, Lee Van Cleef, and Eli Wallach square off in a remote cemetery with a fortune in gold on the line, the sprawling film gives way to an operatic pairing of sight and sound.  Ennio Morricone’s monumental score perfectly captures the tension as Leone’s camera carries us through a series of extreme close-ups deftly interwoven with vivid wide shots.  Steely gazes give way to fingertips that dance above the weapons that will soon determine who winds up dead and who winds up with the gold.  The three men involved in this exhilarating standoff have each worked valiantly and suffered greatly to arrive at this moment, and Leone wrings every drop of suspense that he can out of the impending gunfire.

So deft is his touch and so perfectly suited to this wild reinvention of the western genre are the cast and Morricone’s score that the sequence remains nothing short of spellbinding to this very day.  Once the first weapon is drawn and the shots ring out, the shootout concludes in the blink of an eye, but that only underscores the power and scope of this grand finale.  Just as Leone used a daring collage of imagery and Morricone’s haunting score to perfectly capture the anticipation of this duel, he utilized brutal concision to convey the finality and brevity of the resolution to this grand yet finite conflict with the same precision and effectiveness.

Yes, this one is all about style, and it’s truly the build-up that makes this gunfight a classic, but that doesn’t impact its standing in the legacy of the cinema.  I have no qualms about featuring the poetic and visually stirring climax of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly on my list, and I’m sure that those enjoy a great film will second that.  

. . .

Those readers who are left wanting after this revelation should find more to their liking when my next selection arrives courtesy of a far higher body count and enough firepower to make Rambo take cover.  Look out, L.A.--the heat is on when I unveil my choice for #2 on this list.

Also, those who enjoyed this piece may want to see where I ranked The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly when I did my Top 5 Clint Eastwood Movies a while back.  Here's a hint: it's #1 with a bullet!

Top 5 Movie Shootouts: #4) The Wild Bunch (finale)

With this Top 5, I'm breaking down my favorite movie shootouts for you.  Many of the films set to make this list are classics that will be hard to argue, but I have no doubt that my choice for the top spot on this list will not sit well with many.  Also, I should point out that I'm excluding war films from this Top 5.  I may revisit them with a Top 5 Combat Scenes at some point or something of that ilk, but they didn't really seem to fit with what I'm going for here.  As always, I welcome your thoughts on my selections, and I'm equally interested in hearing about your choices, so feel free to drop a comment and give me your take.

Yesterday, I started things off with John Wick (the Red Circle) at #5, and while that was a recent gem I am going all the way back to 1969 for my next selection.

Top 5 Movie Shootouts: #4) The Wild Bunch (finale)

When you take legendary director Sam Peckinpah's knack for turning violence and machismo into a ballet of bullets and bloodshed, it should come as no surprise that one of his movies made it onto this list.  Additionally, while many of his pictures contain riveting gunfights, I think that this grand finale is Sam's greatest achievement.  Honestly, I consider the grim conclusion to The Wild Bunch to be among the best endings ever, and this rousing shootout where four men challenge an entire army is surely worthy of the #4 spot here.

The biggest attribute that this particular shootout boasts aside from Peckinpah in the director's chair is the amazing cast.  William Holden was a true leading man, and this scene allows him to march into battle with Ernest Borgnine, Ben Johnson, and Warren Oates at his side.  This rugged band of outlaws is not comprised of heroes, yet the final reel of this classic western finds the gang taking a valiant stand that will cost them their lives.  They do this because they value loyalty more than gold, and the scene where they march toward their inevitable demise perfectly sets the stage for the carnage to come.  

The violence that ensues is bold, stirring, and incredibly gruesome.  Peckinpah shot some great action bits during his lengthy career, but nothing quite like this.  The cinematography is stellar, the effects are terrific, and the performances elevate this orgy of bloodshed into the realm of classic cinema.  It is all a bit crude, but what else should we expect from The Wild Bunch?  

So brazen is this gory battle that it teeters on the brink of absurdity, but the harsh themes and the spectacular craftsmanship give it enough resonance to remain potent.  In many ways, this explosive firefight is difficult to classify, as it is clearly exciting and perversely entertaining while it is also gritty and nihilistic to such an extent that you may feel a little dirty after watching it.  I find it to be one of the most incredible climaxes ever filmed, and it is a perfect way to wrap up this tale of hard men who have become obsolete and have little to live for aside from their value to one another.  In fairness, The Wild Bunch may warrant a higher spot on this Top 5, but I had to make some difficult decisions when I put this one together.

. . .

Tomorrow, we turn the clock back another 3 years to 1966 to discuss the next shootout to make the cut.   In the meantime, while The Wild Bunch may be Peckinpah's best motion picture, you can check out my Short Attention Span Review of Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia to learn more about my favorite film from this visionary director.

Short Attention Span Review: Machete (2010)

I know, I know, I'm doing this backward.  Yesterday I reviewed Machete Kills and today I'm reviewing the first Machete.  I'm a writer, so funny things happen in my brain.  Forgive me.  Anyway, while the sequel brought some seriously silly sci-fi antics into play, Machete is an ode to those hardcore action movies of the 70s and 80s that made guys like Charlie Bronson and Sylvester Stallone superstars.  While it takes the notion of a parody to such bizarre heights that it borders on being too ridiculous to engage the audience, it ultimately succeeds in providing viewers with a cheeky and exciting experience that is equal parts bonkers and badass.  If you're looking for a genuine action film, look elsewhere--satire is as important to Machete as gratuitous violence and outrageous amounts of gore.  Robert Rodriguez pushes the envelope at every turn, and he gets quality performances from everyone involved.  Robert DeNiro appears to be having the time of his life, Don Johnson is great, and Jeff Fahey is fucking phenomenal.  Michelle Rodriguez rocks, Lindsay Lohan is actually tolerable, and perhaps only Jessica Alba seems a bit out of place, though she is smoking hot and it's not like she's terrible or anything.  Steven Segal is hilarious as the villain, giving us perhaps the funniest death scene of all time, and it truly feels like everyone in the cast had fun making this blood-soaked romp.  The score is on point, the effects are appropriately cheesy, the gore is obnoxious, and Machete scores a direct hit for fans of this sort of material.

Final Grade: B

Danny Trejo is at his badass best in Machete.

Short Attention Span Review - Machete Kills (2013)

The first Machete from 2010 was a dark and gruesome nod to hardcore 80s action films, which were equal parts hardcore and ludicrous.  Need proof?  Take another look at Stallone in Cobra, a film which is damn near as silly as anything Robert Rodriguez could ever dream up.  Surprisingly, this sequel is more of a send-up of James Bond's sci-fi adventures--though the outer space intrigue is surely cross-pollinated with that 80s action vibe that the director is so fond of.  Bolder, far more obnoxious, and ten times as absurd as its predecessor, Machete Kills is an utterly ridiculous motion picture that nearly crumbles under the weight of all the insanity splattered across the screen.  Yet everyone involved is clearly having a blast, and viewers who don't expect anything more from Machete Kills than a goofy good time will surely be entertained.  Note: if you're expecting something more from Machete Kills, that's a you-problem, not a Machete Kills-problem.  I don't know where they found that Carlos Estevez guy, but he was awesome as the president, and Mel Gibson was a terrific villain.  The best part in the picture may have belonged to Demian Bichir as a schizophrenic who constantly veers from noble good guy to crazed villain as his various personalities rage across the scene.  Of course, Rodriguez has always been down with girl power, and Michelle Rodriguez and Amber Heard are both incredibly badass (and hot) in this action/sci-fi mash-up.  The score is fantastic, the laughs are frequent, and while the picture is totally bonkers, it somehow manages to keep the viewer interested while gleefully going overboard with cartoonish violence and loads of gore.  I loved Grindhouse, I dug Machete (was Fahey badass or what?), and Machete Kills was another fun flick from the modern master of grindhouse filmmaking. 

Final Grade: B

Bonus Points: There was a brief homage to The Road Warrior that made me stand up and applaud.

Everyone has a good time in Machete Kills.

Random Cool Shit - Lalo Schifrin's Riff on the Jaws Theme

The theme for Jaws is one of the baddest themes ever to emerge from the depths of the cinema.  Yet it is a bit simplistic and it has earned its reputation more for being brutally effective than by virtue of its technical prowess.  John Williams is a legend and his work with Jaws is badass, but it should be noted that fellow composer Lalo Schifrin (Enter the Dragon, Dirty Harry, Mission Impossible) offered up a dazzling jazz rendition of the theme that is both brutally effective and boldly realized.  Don't take my word for it, though, do yourself a favor and give it a listen here.  You can thank me later.

Short Attention Span Review: Milius (2013)

As documentaries about filmmakers go, it is hard to imagine any subject being more prolific or intriguing than writer and director John Milius.  It should come as no surprise then that Milius is such a spectacle.  Even as a fan of this gifted filmmaker and his larger-than-life personality, I was surprised to see just how broad his impact on the film industry has been.  Those who aren't as familiar with John's body of work will likely be flabbergasted to learn that one man played such a pivotal role in so many iconic pictures and performances over the years.  His contributions to movies like Jaws and Dirty Harry are discussed along with movies he scripted (Apocalypse Now and Jeremiah Johnson, among others) and directed (films like Dillinger, The Wind and the Lion, and Conan the Barbarian).  Professional accomplishments aside, the stories about his larger-than-life antics and his brazen disregard for going with the flow are wildly compelling.  This documentary also benefits from more than just a wealth of intriguing material; the number of famed participants who share their thoughts on John's work and persona throughout the picture is positively mind-boggling.  It is entirely possible that it would be easier to list the major actors, directors, and producers who weren't in this documentary than it would be to name everyone who appeared in the picture.  Milius offers far more than reflection on the cinema and funny stories about a brazen individual, touching on politics and delving into some truly emotional territory in the closing reel.  As a fan, I was totally captivated, but I imagine that those who aren't as familiar with the subject--and perhaps even those who don't like John's filmography--will be entertained by this documentary.  It is bold, colorful, and surprisingly nuanced, much like John Milius himself.

Final Grade: A

El Rey Network, I Think I Love You

It's official: I have fallen for the El Rey Network.  Seriously, I'm starting to think that Robert Rodriguez dreamed this station up just for me.  Giallo flicks, spaghetti westerns, and kung fu treachery--hot damn!  Seriously, check out Thursday's theme:

What's not to love?  Now, some of you may not dig kung fu flicks as much as I do.  I don't know what the hell's wrong with you, but it's true--some people don't really care if honkies from the CIA interrupt their kung fu.  The rest of us dig Thursdays on El Rey.  In truth, if you like cool movies, this channel has you covered whether you dig kung fu or not.  Cult classics are the norm and there are gory horror flicks like City of the Living Dead running when Mad Max isn't ripping down the asphalt in The Road Warrior.  Hey look, it's Taxi Driver!  Like I wondered at the start of the paragraph, what's not to love?

So what's happening on El Rey aside from all the groovy movies?  Well, there's Lucha Underground, for starters.  I dig the wrasslin' and let me assure you, you've never seen wrasslin' like this.  The environment, the atmosphere, the moves--Lucha Underground is a wicked ride.  If you don't like wrasslin' you may actually dig this, and lifelong fans of suplexes and DDTs may just lose their minds watching this shit.  It's insane.

Of course, there's more.  I really dig watching Rodriguez sit down with other directors and talk shop on The Director's Chair.  You know that I had a blast watching John Carpenter dish on his biggest hits and share his thoughts on the film industry in general, and the two episodes devoted to QT were equally compelling.  There are other programs and even the ads and promos are nifty given that they have a distinct grindhouse feel. 

I just discovered El Rey a few weeks ago, so I know that I'm late to the party, but I'm quickly becoming this channel's biggest fan.  Do yourself a favor and tune in!

Tackling Schwarzenegger

I'm putting together a fresh Top 5 for my good friends over at RVA Magazine, and this time I'll be sizing up Arnold Schwarzenegger's movies.  I'm truly surprised I haven't done this one before, and it promises to be difficult.  I know what the top two are, but I'm not sure about the order, and beyond that it's just going to be brutal.  I love Arnold and I've grown up watching his movies.  I'm super-stoked to see he and Sly join forces once again in The Expendables 3, a picture I'll also be reviewing for RVA Magazine when it opens in a couple of weeks.  Few things about the current state of cinema thrill me as much as seeing the big guns from my childhood working together like they have been as of late.  There are also some other Top 5s that may figure into this equation being discussed.  Maybe Mel, maybe tough-guy ensemble pictures.  Maybe both, who knows?  Anyway, I'll share links to the articles here and keep you posted.

In other words, . . . I'll be back.

Dirty Southside Jam (Kickstarter details and an excerpt)

 As I work to publish my second novel, Dirty Southside Jam, I have started a fundraiser on Kickstarter.  Obviously, I would be grateful for your support, so I'm providing a link here:

 Dirty Southside Jam on Kickstarter

You can learn all about the book and my goals for the fundraiser, as well as contribute, just by clicking that link.  Just think: you would be helping a starving artist to take the next step toward putting food on the table for three hungry children and one pregnant wife.  For the record, the kids are well-fed, but as anyone who has children can attest, they're almost always hungry.  Anyway, I wanted to provide you with something more here, so I'm going to drop the basic hook for Dirty Southside Jam and an excerpt on you.  I'm giving you the first chapter, and even if you don't elect to chip in and support me, any and all feedback is welcome.

Thanks, peeps!  You know I'd do it for you.

So, what's Dirty Southside Jam about?  It goes something like this:

Billie Boyd, better known to the good people of Bogut as Blue, is the kind of guy whose luck only comes in one flavor. Sometimes it seems that his entire life has been punctuated by one bad break after another, but that's okay. He's a simple guy at heart, a man who has learned not to expect much. Everything changes when Blue finds a small fortune and decides to keep it, believing that his luck has finally turned.

He should have known better.

Now, good old Blue is at odds with a drug-peddling brute, a ruthless killer, and a corrupt lawman. His only ally is an aging drifter who likes to smoke pot and drive fast.  A man who never asked for much has bitten off way more than he can chew, and it's becoming painfully obvious that his next bad break will definitely be his last.

Now, here's a sneak peek at the first chapter.  Enjoy!

-        

Chapter One: Good Old Blue

Billie Boyd was enjoying another leisurely night at Cinema City.  Lately, leisurely nights were all the place had to offer.  Billie was better known to the people of Bogut as “Blue” and he was a quiet fellow who seemed to give off a bit of warmth, an intriguing outsider who was very comfortable in his own skin.

The lean projectionist was in the lobby, wiping down the counters with a rag that was old and worn.  Blue had long hair that he sometimes pulled back in a ponytail, but tonight it was hanging in his face as he worked.  Blue had never been employed anywhere else and the theater was like a second home to him, but he didn’t think it would last much longer.

The failing cinema had once been regarded as a terrific place to catch a movie.  Twenty years ago it was undoubtedly the local hot spot, particularly when a true blockbuster was playing.  In those days, the parking lot was often so full that late arrivals had to park at the pizzeria down the hill and hoof it from there. 

Blue had made that journey on numerous occasions in his time, but nobody had a hard time finding a parking spot these days.  The old theater was barely turning a profit and the parking lot was mostly empty, even on weekends. 

Cinema City had fallen into a sad state of disarray and it was getting worse with every day that passed.  The carpet was old and dirty, fraying in some places and stained in others.  In one spot the red wallpaper had peeled back to expose a filthy yellow expanse of drywall.   The video games lining the lobby were a primitive array of battered shells housing unheralded titles.

Blue watched as an old man approached the front of the cinema to study the posters advertising the movies they were playing.  The old man lingered in front of each sheet, trying to muster up some enthusiasm, but nothing caught his fancy.   Grimacing, he turned and walked away. 

Blue sighed.  He loved this place, and it pained him to watch it wither away right before his very eyes.  They hadn’t added any new features to their bill for three weeks in a row, a drought that would hamper any cinema’s business.   In fact, this was the worst Saturday night Blue had ever been on hand for.

They had sold a whopping sum of fourteen tickets for the three seven o’clock shows.  To make matters worse, the concession stand hadn’t made so much as a dime after the movies started.  Unfortunately, this was typical of late, as Cinema City was mired in a lingering slump that had Barry contemplating doing away with the latest show on each day aside from Friday and Saturday.  If it came to that, things were definitely coming to a halt sooner rather than later. 

Blue had held his job since he was in high school and he had always displayed a loyalty to the place that was inexplicable and wholly undeserved.  Barry made it clear that he liked Blue and appreciated his efforts, but he wasn’t about to provide a raise that matched his praise.   He seldom gave his star employee enough hours and the old coot was always too busy ogling the young females who operated the concession stand to truly appreciate Blue’s efforts. 

When Barry finally got tired of scraping by and decided to close the doors for good, Blue would have to move on to something else.    Until then he was getting paid for doing almost nothing, which was nice, but maybe it would be wise for him to start looking at other options. 

The next job he took would certainly be more difficult.  He had it made at Cinema City.  Most nights he spent far more time reading whichever book he was currently devoted to than attending to the patrons or the projectors.  Currently, he was plowing through an old copy of North Dallas Forty by Peter Gent.  His copy of the novel came complete with yellow pages and a musty odor.  It was one of his all-time favorites and it frequently inspired him to laugh out loud.

Later, after all the shows had let out, Blue finished his work upstairs in the booth, which was actually a large room.  He deftly threaded each film through the projector for the next shift, his fingers dancing through the process, his mind elsewhere.   Once he had assured himself that everything was in order with a cursory walk-through, he went to the box and shut down all of the appropriate breakers in rapid succession.  He went downstairs, set the alarm, and exited through the side door. 

Blue strolled over to his car, enjoying the crisp night air.  Some people seemed unable to shake their fear of the dark, but he had always enjoyed the night.

Blue drove a 1992 Toyota Tercel that had a heart of gold.  He had owned four cars and each vehicle aside from the Tercel had proven to be a total piece of shit.  He hadn’t called any of the others anything aside from random curse words, but the burgundy Tercel he had dubbed “Martha” and he treated this particular lady with tremendous affection. 

The old girl was rugged and dependable.  He had owned the vehicle for six years and she was steadily approaching three hundred thousand miles.  Blue was determined to take her to that plateau and beyond.  To date,  she had avoided major repairs. 

“That’s another one in the books, Martha,” Blue said as he climbed in.  He was smiling, but that wasn’t unusual.  Blue smiled a lot.  

Good old Blue.

Maybe his story is a triumph of sorts, but then again it could be a tragedy.  It’s a tale that begins and ends on a winding stretch of country road in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.   That ornery strip of asphalt is called McClusky Lane, except when referred to as plain old State Route 79 (often reduced to a raspy old 79) by those who have lived in Bogut long enough. 

They like to spin yarns about old 79 in these parts, and those yarns are frequently bloody nightmares that yield restless nights.  Many of them are true, or at least based in truth, for on McClusky Lane the straights are long and narrow and the twists come fast and hard.  The road begins winding about the foothills like a frightened serpent before skirting the lake, drawing perilously close to the water’s edge.  Later, long after most of the traffic has filtered onto other roads, it crosses Cold Rock Creek via a rickety covered bridge that has created concern amongst the populace for decades.  Thus far the decrepit wooden structure has held, but all the old-timers agree that it won’t be long before the whole thing takes a bath.

They’re probably right about that, and someone is bound to go with it.  Those old-timers know the lay of the land, and they also know the history of these parts.  McLusky Lane is a mean stretch of pavement indeed, a dangerous country corridor itching for blood.  In most places there’s a similar stretch of highway, a winding road in a lonely hollow with a few twists too many and just enough room for reckless youngsters to build speed and momentum.  Like those other passages in those other places, McLusky Lane has claimed far too many lives. 

It’s notorious not only for a number of horrific accidents, but also for a history rich with stories about moonshine, exciting tales of hotshot runners racing against the law and taking big chances on that devilish road.  There are a few major players whose names are familiar to all those who call Bogut home, and virtually everyone living in these parts still has some kin with access to a working still.  White Lightning has always been a welcome addition to any shindig in Bogut, and there’s seldom enough to suit everyone. 

Blue preferred pot, but he could never pass on a jar when it was offered. 

He hated the road, though, hated it with a passion.  He agreed with the old-timers on that score.  While some people scoffed at the road’s reputation and wondered how the locals could lend a strip of asphalt such personality, Blue was intimately familiar with the woeful history of McLusky Lane.  He had survived his ordeal, but he was a victim nonetheless.   

He was only eight years old when the accident happened, but he could remember it vividly.  It was never going to go away, he was certain of that.  No matter how hard he tried to force the episode into the darkest recesses of his mind, those memories were always crawling out to confront him at his weakest moments.

He was going for a ride with his older brother when a deer bolted across the road in front of them and Ronnie panicked.  Billie screamed as his brother yanked the wheel too hard, sending his rugged little Jeep into a dangerous slide that quickly became a violent roll.  The Jeep went off the shoulder and tumbled down into a ravine, flipping four times in the process.

When it ended, Billie was lying against the door with pieces of his brother in his lap.  He was drenched in Ronnie’s blood and the wreck had imprisoned him within the vehicle.  Physically he went virtually unharmed, but the mental anguish he suffered was almost too much for him to endure.

He was trapped in the wreckage for nearly four hours before they got him out, the stench of blood filling his nostrils as the wet warmth of Ronnie’s remains pressed against him.  Gradually the sticky lumps of meat that had once been his brother grew cold. 

It would be nice if he couldn’t recall that period of time, if it was lost in a fog, horrifying yet shapeless, a formless nightmare from the past.  Unfortunately that just wasn’t the case.  It was still all too real to him even after all this time.  His mind hadn’t drifted into shock or provided any distractions in the form of hallucinations.  His memories were vivid, a gruesome record of that terrible ordeal that had yet to fade and likely never would.

He had sat there, drenched in blood, pieces of Ronnie all over the place, the grim horror of reality refusing to release him into any sort of sanctuary.  Time had never passed so slowly, each moment stretching into an eternity, the hours crawling past like days.  His spirit broke and his hold on his sanity crumbled during that hellish passage. 

When they pulled him out of the mangled Jeep, he told the paramedics exactly what had happened, describing the accident in great detail.  Then he lapsed into silence and closed his eyes.  He couldn’t remember things so well for a while after that. 

It was better than six months before he spoke so much as a word and nearly a year before he spoke at any length about Ronnie or the accident.  He seldom talked at all and he began keeping to himself.  Some of the kids starting calling him “Little Blue Boy” and the nickname stuck.  Time whittled it down to “Blue” and he never resisted.  He didn’t particularly like the moniker, but he didn’t dislike it enough to object.  After a while, it become part of him. 

He found himself thinking about the wreck more and more these days, but he kept pushing it away.  It was far easier to find distractions than to contemplate that horrid experience.  It was over and he had suffered enough.  He had moved on a long time ago and he needed to forget it. 

Blue shook his head and grimaced.  Some things were easier said than done.

The sky above was speckled with twinkling stars and the breeze was gentle.  It was a nice night for September.  Blue drove with his window down, listening to a cassette tape he had purchased at the flea market for a dollar a few weeks ago.  It was the timeless Outlandos D’Amour from The Police, a bargain at any price, and Blue was quickly wearing it out. 

He was only a few miles down the road when he spotted David Blanchard walking along the side of the road with his olive bag slung across his shoulder.  David was an old salt who had pulled three tours in Nam after earning quite a reputation for running moonshine in these hills when he was but a pup.  Most folks around here knew who he was, and aside from those wearing badges, most felt he was a good enough guy. 

The current sheriff was a chubby prick named Arthur Leopold III.  He had been sheriff for nearly a decade and his daddy had owned the post before his beefy son took his place.  Some time before that, his grandfather had been sheriff, but his time in office was cut short in a gruesome accident on McLusky Lane. 

He was chasing a young David Blanchard at the time. 

The first Arthur Leopold was pitched through his windshield and slammed headfirst into a tree at something like seventy miles per hour when he came into a sharp turn running hot and didn’t have the mustard to bring his good old Ford around.  His hat was found some sixty feet from his body.   

And so it was no secret that the current sheriff despised the old vagrant, and surely there were those who didn’t blame him, though in a place like Bogut most of the populace preferred a man who ran moonshine to a man sporting a tin star.     

Blue didn’t think much of Leopold, but then he didn’t think much of any of the authority figures he had dealt with.  In his opinion, most people who were given any small measure of power ceased with deliberation and began acting on impulse.  David, on the other hand, was all right as far as Blue was concerned.  Leopold wasn’t going to mess with the old drifter if Blue could help it.  He had given the old vet a ride on several occasions for the same reason, and the dude sometimes smoked him out in return for the trip.

They shook hands and Blue asked the old drifter where he was going.

“Nowhere in particular,” David said.

“That’s one of my favorite destinations.”  Blue put his foot on the gas and Martha rumbled ahead, slicing through the night. 

David settled back in his seat, stretching his legs, making himself comfortable. 

Blue found his mind slipping toward the past again, taking him to another episode from his youth that involved that wretched road.  The man sitting beside him was also a player in this memory.

When he was a kid, long before anyone ever called him anything but Billie, he had invited a friend over to spend the night.  This was when he and his family lived on a dirt road just off of McLusky Lane. 

Billie and his friend had decided to go for a walk and shortly thereafter the two of them were a few miles from home, heading toward the lake.  They were walking along McLusky Lane, approaching the boat ramp and enjoying the nice day as they went.  They were talking about comic books when a weaving truck sped by, nearly careening into them. 

            Suddenly the truck slid to a stop, pelting them with gravel.  As they looked on in mute terror, a stocky old man with a silver crewcut and a scraggly white beard lurched out, barreling toward them with a club in his hand.

            “Did you give me the finger, boy?”  He bellowed as he advanced, his eyeballs swelling in their sockets until it appeared they would burst.

            It occurred to Billie later that they should have run.  Though imposing, the madman was old and built for power, not speed.  They could have eluded him with ease, but foolish children that they were, they had stood there, frozen in the grip of terror.  Blue and his friend were practically rooted to the ground as the stranger approached with his barbaric weapon, his pupils so big they looked like black checkers to the frightened boys.

            “Huh?  Did you?  Did you flip me off, son?”

            Billie didn’t know if the man was addressing him or his friend, but neither had made any gesture whatsoever, so he said just that.

            “Bullshit, brat!  I’ll teach you to give me the damn finger.”

            He was poised to strike when David Blanchard came out of nowhere, calmly approaching this roaring menace with his arms before him, his palms facing outward.  Billie would never forget the way the drifter looked on that day, his black hair pulled back into a ponytail, his beard thick and unruly, his worn combat jacket providing a stark contrast to his red flannel shirt.

            “It’s okay,” David said in a soothing voice, almost as though he were dealing with an animal.  “We have a misunderstanding here, man, that’s all.  Let’s make sure no one gets hurt.”

            The man with the club sneered, but he lowered the club.  “Who are you?”

            “I’m no one,” David said flatly, “No one at all.”

            “The fuck did you come from?”

            “Nowhere,” David said in a soft tone.  “It doesn’t matter, anyway.  Everything’s cool.”

            As young Billie watched the two men talk, he was sure that if the surly man with the club made the wrong move, David was going to tear him to peaces.  There was nothing in the vet’s manner or stance to suggest this ferocity, but young Billie sensed it lurking just beneath the surface.

            In the end, nothing grave happened.  David talked things out with the man and that old nutjob actually apologized before leaving.  Billie and his friend were quick to depart as well, curtly thanking David and setting off with quite the tale for their chums. 

It had been a long time since Blue thought about that incident, but it passed through his thoughts as his trusty car raced through the darkness tonight, David Blanchard riding shotgun.   The strip of pavement framed in the glare of his headlights was as a grey blur churning beneath them. 

            He suddenly felt the need to discuss the episode.  “When I was a child,” he began, “I was attacked by a man with a club-“

            “I remember,” David interrupted, a tired voice emitting from somewhere within his tangled mess of a beard.  His thick unruly hair hung about his shoulders, his grey locks frayed and dirty from a lack of grooming.  “I remember just fine. Never could figure why the two of you didn’t just run, but I remember the whole thing well enough.”

            “You knew that was me?”

            David smiled and took a joint from his pocket, lighting it with a devilish grin.  The aroma of marijuana, tantalizingly sweet and unmistakably pungent, filled the Tercel.  “Of course I knew it was you, boy.  Of course I did.  The real question is what did that crazy old bugger have a club for?  Really now, who carries a club?”  The old drifter shook his head and laughed.

            Blue was surprised.  They had never discussed anything of great importance before, but this acknowledgement seemed to suggest a far deeper bond than Blue had imagined.  What was his value to this strange old bird?

            After several deep drags on the joint and few rattling coughs, David passed the joint to Blue.  He provided a sound imitation of his predecessor in this regard.  Almost at once, the warmth began to spread through him and his body began to relax.  The Police were still tearing it up in Martha’s cassette player, and the old stoner took note.

            “This is back when The Police were the shit,” David said, smiling as he lost himself in the music.  “They had their own sound.  I suppose it was only a matter of time before one of the guys got uppity.  I just never imagined it would have been Sting.”  The old drifter laughed.  He took the joint from Blue and took two big hits in rapid succession before continuing.  “I mean, who would have thought?  What are the chances of a guy named Sting having an ego?  Especially if he’s a revelation on bass and he’s got a pair of pipes fit for an angel.”

            Blue felt the need to say something, but he didn’t know what he could possibly offer. “I’m really enjoying this album,” he said.  He was clearly out of his depth.

            David pressed on.  “Truly gifted.  But he never did anything to rival this one.  Or maybe Reggatta De Blanc.  That’s the one with Message in a Bottle.  Nothing in his solo career could touch The Police.  They had their own sound, man.”

            “You already said that,” Blue said, wishing he hadn’t.

            “Well, maybe I said it twice because I wanted to make sure you got the point.  I mean, a man driving around with Outlandos D’Amour in his tape player should understand these things.  The Police weren’t some addition to some scene, man.  They were a scene.  They had their own thing going.  You dig?”

            “I get it.  I got it.  I’m the one who bought the cassette tape.  I’m listening to it, aren’t I?”

            “No, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.  You may be listening to The Police, but you aren’t hearing The Police.  Not yet, anyway.”

            An uneasy silence followed, broken only by Martha’s steady hum and The Police’s efforts on Next To You.  Before long, Blue’s mind drifted to the past again, taking him back to that strange episode on the side of the road.  “Why-“ he began, but it was a question that would go unanswered. 

Later, Blue would be unable to recall what he was going to ask.  He would remember little of what had transpired leading up to the accident.  Had they shared something?  That gentle moment before the storm would be lost forever in the glare of headlights and the scream of burning rubber. 

            For the second time in his life, Blue was part of the dance as steel met steel and flesh collided with machinery in a pulverizing display of power.  Once again, he screamed as he was thrown forward, his wail drowned out by a metallic squeal that filled the night.