Bitch Slap

Stunts and Effects: 90%
Logic: 9%
Soundtrack: 56%
TnA: 89%
Cognitive Decline of Audience: 90% 
Overall Inches on the Action Erection Scale: 11 out of 12

The Grindhouse resurgence shows no signs of stopping. First it was Planet Terror and Death Proof in 2007, which was followed by (in no particular order) Black Dynamite, Drag Me To Hell, Piranha 3D, Machete, and Hobo with a Shotgun, but it seems that the home video market (and, in particular, Netflix) are where the schlockiest of schlock goes to find an audience. That is the case of Bitch Slap, a heist flick that is heavy on the visual pleasures but a little misguided when it comes to depicting the Grindhouse charm that it attempts to satire.

One of the best action sequences of the last decade. Seriously.

Wikipedia describes the plot of Bitch Slap as being about three women who “arrive at a remote desert hideaway to extort massive booty from a ruthless underworld kingpin.” Now, I’m sure that’s what was going on while I was watching it (or should I say, “oggling it"), but the fact that I didn’t care enough to decipher even the flimsiest of plot mechanics is a testament to how nonsensical the whole thing is. Sure, this was the intent of the filmmakers (no arguments there) but it kind of denies the movie your attention for almost an hour before things get interesting.


Bitch Slap doesn’t really fulfill it’s goal of “Building a Better B-Movie” (although some of the cinematography is stellar) until the film completely removes the male element and let’s the ladies go for broke. Don’t get me wrong, this film isn’t attempting to reverse the male fantasy in favor of the females (like Tarantino’s Death Proof), but a pair of climactic catfights does prove that the actresses (and, more specifically, their stunt women) not only “get” the joke but also have the enthusiasm to deliver the punchline. Their showdown raises the whole thing from an Axe commercial to an indefensible guilty purchase.

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Die Hard

Back when Bruce Willis gave a fuck.

Stunts and Effects: 95%
Logic: 55%
Soundtrack: 95%
TnA: 20%
Cognitive Decline of Audience: 20% 
Overall Inches on the Action Erection Scale: 12 out of 12

When Die Hard arrived to theatres in 1988, it instantly fathered a number of cinematic bastards in its wake. Studios seemed all too eager to pitch the next big blockbuster as “Die Hard on a noun.” (Six years later, Speed would dethrone Die Hard as the go-to action film template.) Hollywood, however, sought only to mimic the high concept and failed to recognize how humor and personality factored into making the film so memorable.

Harry Potter would've shit himself if he was up against Hans instead of Snape.

As John McClane, Bruce Willis owns the first and third act of Die Hard. Arrogant as fuck but not off-putting, Willis' star power seemed almost destined to shine in his breakthrough role, but it's the supporting cast of characters that toughens the film's second act. Suddenly, Die Hard charmingly alternates between comedy, character, and action. Outside of Willis, no one actor exemplifies this better than faux-terrorist Hans Gruber (Alan Rickman). Rickman walks onto the film with assuredness and precise timing. Everything Rickman says has a bitter punch line and his assortment of multi-cultural henchmen walk that mandatory thin line between competency and ineptness.


Narrowing down Willis' heroic options are the LAPD, and the FBI. Along with the radioed anxiety of desk jockey Al Powell (Reginald Vel Johnson), these character add an exuberance to the ramped up violence (seriously, 80s action films were only a centimeter away from matching horror films in terms of bloodshed).


By the end of the film, the cast of background characters have made as impressionable and personable mark as our quip-y protagonist. It's this element that seemed to elude every clone thereafter, cementing Die Hard as one of the granddaddies of the genre to this day.

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