The Guy From Harlem (1977)

Who's the black private dick / That's a sex machine to all the chicks? Well, that would have to be The Guy From Harlem, a bizarre blaxploitation effort that features some of the poorest production i've seen outside of a Bloody Nightmares film. This one really has it all: a director lacking a rudimentary knowledge of storytelling, retina-burning 70s decor, actors who wouldn't cut it in community theatre, and the fight scenes.. wow, the fight scenes. Despite these (obvious, glaring) flaws, for those in the right state of mind - and an appreciation for the goodness of badness - there is plenty to enjoy here. The Guy From Harlem is shit, but it's deliriously entertaining shit.

Loye Hawkins is Al Connors, the eponymous Guy From Harlem, and as the title credits roll - and roll they do, as the film's entire credits run at the beginning, over scenes of Al driving around the city and backed by the oddly catchy Guy From Harlem theme song - we'll quickly notice that Al isn't actually in Harlem. In fact, Al works as a private detective in sunny Miami, Florida, though (as he mentions repeatedly) he cut his P.I. teeth working the mean streets of Harlem. Thankfully all of that growth and interesting material is in his past, so we can see him fuck around aimlessly in Miami.

Al seems to have a comfortable living, and an office that looks suspiciously like a pre-school classroom. He also has a reputation as a bit of a ladies man, which he puts into practice whenever a hint of a vagina enters his field of vision. He's visited by David McLeod, an old friend (from HARLEM) and CIA agent who wants Connors to take on the job of protecting the lovely Mrs. Ashanti, wife of a diplomat from "an African nation". McLeod warns about the international repercussions of Al sexing up this African Queen/Princess (the film seems confused about which), but all is fair in love and greasily hitting on the partners of foreign dignitaries.

The two stay at a hotel, pretending to be husband and wife, but this ruse is quickly seen through by a parade of baddies who - in attempting to kidnap Ashanti - are rapidly brought down by Al's street-perfected fighting style. First there's a syringe-wielding masseuse whom Al scares off by watching her rub down the Princess (which - yes - is creepy), then a room service attendant in drag, and finally a group of thugs whom are taken down by some patented Al-fu. The pair then move onto a safe spot - an apartment owned by one of Al's former conquests - before plowing through the seventh commandment. Al delivers Ashanti safe and sound, and they all live happily ever after.

Except that we're only about half way through the movie. How episodic. Now we move on to the bulk of the plot, where Al is visited at his office by "legitimate businessman" Harry De Bauld, who - along with his more sedate - irritate Al's secretary before gesticulating wildly about his kidnapped daughter. Apparently she's been taken by Big Daddy, the other gangster in town, who was also behind the plot to kidnap the African Princess/Queen/whatever. Harry wants Al to be the one to make the trade (of drugs and money) for his daughter, and - after realizing that the daughter would make a fine conquest - decides to take the job.

However, Al decides to ignore what he's actually been paid to do, and instead takes on Big Daddy's cronies by himself. He cleverly tracks down their secret hide-out/shack, and takes down the baddies one by one, in some of the most confounding scenes of action ever to be put on film. Limbs are flung with wild abandon, and bodies crash to the ground seemingly randomly, but Al - of course - comes out on top. He's the man from Harlem. However, there's one fly in the ointment - Harry's daughter Wanda (who had to fight off some icky advances from Big Daddy's men) has no interest in going back to her corrupt father. Instead, the two return to the apartment of Al's lady-friend (who seems a bit upset that he's using her place as a love shack), where they proceed to screw. Professional.

While Harry is a bit upset at first that Al has taken the drugs to the police instead of making the trade, he is pleased to have his daughter back. The only problem is that Big Daddy wants Al dead, and that doesn't sit well with Al (or Wanda, who Al has decided to commit himself to), so a meeting is set up for the two to work out their differences. Big Daddy is a big, blond body-builder, so Al's decision to decide his fate with hand-to-hand combat may seem like an odd decision, but this is the Guy From Harlem! Big Daddy's goons are taken out by Harry's men, while Big Daddy gets thrashed by Al's fists (and feet) of fury. Al and Wanda walk off into the sunset, obviously looking forward to The Guy From Harlem 2.

The Guy From Harlem 2 never materialized. In fact, director Rene Martinez Jr. only made one other film, and it has a rather controversial title (now THAT I need to see). Hopefully - though improbably - Martinez's skills improved for that film, as here we're dealing strictly with amateur hour. The camera ignores the most basic rules of composition, and when wide shots cut to close-ups suddenly the players switch positions. Actors flub lines, or immediately repeat seemingly improvised dialogue, and it's just left in! The camera is locked down, making the action scenes look particularly odd and static - even when the actors are flamboyantly rolling around.

Performances either have the actors chewing on the scenery, or so sedate it looks like they are about to fall asleep. The general feeling seems to be that Loye Hawkins is terrible as Al Connors, but I actually think he shows a reasonable amount of charisma, and manages not to stumble over most of his dialogue. I mean, the whole film seems to have been shot in single takes, so Hawkins deserves some credit for not botching his lines left and right. Compare his performance to the female leads, who were obviously picked for their looks - and willingness to disrobe - rather than their ability to deliver the (awful) dialogue convincingly. Steve Gallon  as Harry De Bauld seems to at least be having some fun, but the villains are awful across the board - especially in the unnerving scenes when they are pawing on their female captive. The look of the whole thing makes it feel like a snuff film could break out at any moment.

Rafael Remy did the cinematography on this project and it's frankly hard to believe that he had previous credits on a number of films, because every shot here looks flat and ugly. Lighting and sound credits are fine, though it says a lot about this film that these minor examples of technical competence are even worthy of being mentioned. Sets are minimal, and those that are shown are about as garish and blindingly awful as you might expect. Beautifully wretched.

The Guy From Harlem is presented in a 4:3 (1.33:1) ratio which is spotted with damage, grain, and missing frames which makes watching it feel like a real drive-in experience. I'm not sure what the original aspect ratio was, but it doesn't feel like much significant action is happening off the edges of the frame. Or, in the film at all to be honest. Incidental music by Dr. Cecil Graham is repetitive but unobtrusive, though it's the theme song by The Brand New Review that is likely to stick with you. I know I've been annoying my wife with it for the last few days.

This is part of the Millcreek 50 Martial Arts movie pack so, while it thankfully has a few chapter stops, everything else is bare bones. A shame, since something this inept must have some great stories behind it.

Completely terrible while still being surprisingly watchable, The Guy From Harlem hits that sweet spot of badness that keeps you laughing in disbelief at what you're seeing. The acting, direction and writing are pathetic, but never become tedious and the film somehow manages to keep up momentum until the 90 minute mark. I'm not interested in the further adventures of Al Connors, but in all the film was a pleasant surprise and worthwhile for fans of bad cinema.

Big Money Hustlas (2000)

It's possible that I may have been predisposed to dislike Big Money Hustlas, the 2000 tribute to 1970s exploitation films created and starring rap group the Insane Clown Posse. It's not solely because of the quality of their juvenile, often offensively inane music - including the recent internet sensation "Miracles", which attained cult-like status solely because of its misguided awfulness. It's not because of their "infomercial" for their 2009 "Gathering Of The Juggalos" event which my wife became semi-obsessed with, watching it repeatedly in disbelief that such an odd collection of rather pathetic individuals could come together in some sort of profane Lollapalooza. It's not because of the absolutely ridiculous subculture of ICP fandom - known as Juggalos - who represent some of the saddest dredges of humanity. It's not because of faygo. Or neden-holes. Or Shangri-la.

It's because somewhere - deep down - I can see a teenage version of myself possibly digging some of what makes up the Juggalo (and *sigh* Juggalette) lifestyle. It combines carnivals, sugary soft drinks, raunchy content and a love for "extreme" pro-wrestling and trashy horror movies that would have really appealed to a 14 year old version of me. However, I can't imagine even the impressionable youth I once was taking this stuff very seriously, and certainly I would have grown out of this fandom before I reached anything approaching the age of reason. And I would be embarrassed that I ever enjoyed any of this, and do my best not to mention it ever again. But with time and emotional distance perhaps I could return to the Insane Clown Posse, and view the whole awful business with a certain amount of nostalgia.

Or perhaps not.

So, anyway. I don't like the Insane Clown Posse, or their fans, or their music. But - and this is a big butt - I actually had some hopes for Big Money Hustlas going into it. I can get behind a comical tribute to exploitation films. It has an appearance by the late Rudy Ray Moore reprising his classic Dolemite persona from Dolemite and The Human Tornado. And the ICP have shown a willingness in the past to not take themselves too seriously (obviously not counting that "Miracles" video). So, this could at least have its moments, right?

Right?

Shaggy 2 Dope has the lead as Sugar Bear, a hero cop from San Francisco whodresses in 70s gear and talks - irritatingly - in rhyme. He's brought to New York City to stop the crime spree of Big Baby Sweets (Violent J), who - along with his cronies - is flooding the streets with drugs, bootleg merchandise and prostitution. Oh, and as he'll remind us dozens of times throughout, he's also interested in getting his "motherfucking money". Sugar Bear teams up with the timid Officer Harry Cox (Harland Williams), and soon he's taking a notch out of Sweet's profits. But after a failed attempt to bring the criminals in, his obese stripper girlfriend Missy becomes a target. It takes the power of Dolemite to finally motivate Sugar Bear to take on Sweets in a fight to the death.

There's very little to interest or amuse even the most desperate fan of genre films in Big Money Hustlas. It's painfully slow, consistently irritating, and does almost nothing with the meager resources it has. It looks bad, sounds bad, and features piss-poor actors spitting out horrendous dialogue. The whole things feels like a particularly lame Mad TV sketch stretched over 90 minutes, with the sort of constant winking at the camera which makes any reasonable audience member question why they are wasting their time with this nonsense. Despite my earlier comments, I can't imagine a time when I was juvenile enough to enjoy such vapid, obvious, and lazy attempts at humor.

And obvious and lazy are really the key words here. Some of the supporting cast - most notably career goofball Harland Williams and Jerky Boy/Family Guy regular John G. Brennan - seem to be giving it the old college try, but are consistently sunk by dialogue which mistakes creative swearing for comedy. From what I've read, i'm sure that I will be accused of not understanding "Juggalo Humor". However, for those not familiar with this style of humor, let me explain it to you. It involves fat people eating pizza, cops eating doughnuts, and terrible musicians in clown make-up calling people "motherfuckos". It's a couple of notches down from your average Troma production, which is already a few notches down from funny.

I mentioned earlier that the film squanders meager resources, but I want to clarify that the budget - reported to be between $250-300 thousand - did manage to provide solid production credits. It was shot on 35mm film, and though the direction (by John Cafiero) is pedestrian, it's also professional. Sound and lighting all are at the level of your average straight-to-video production. Behind the scenes issues aside (and this is elaborated on in the commentary), there was potential with this level of creative freedom to do something unique, so it actually registers as a disappointment that everyone involved were content to create something so safe and boring and mediocre.

And blame has to be placed solely on Shaggy 2 Dope and - particularly - Violent J, since they conned their obsessive fans into paying for and watching what is essentially a circle jerk. It says a lot that despite (according to the commentary) writing every word of the screenplay, Violent J still chose to improvise his own  dialogue. His scenes are unbearable, featuring constant mugging and gawking at the camera to the point where it's difficult not to feel slightly embarrassed for him. Shaggy fairs better, though seems to lack any of the charisma he shows on stage when put in front of a camera. Despite being a supposed bad-ass, he's constantly being dominated by the more polished performers around him.

The Island Records DVD release of Big Money Hustlas presents the film in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio, and - as mentioned - it looks perfectly average. Original music is by ICP music producer Mike E. Clark and it's solid, if unspectacular. There's also an appearance of the theme song (performed by Rudy Ray Moore) from The Human Tornado which ends up being one of the film's highlights. That isn't saying much.

We're treated to a feature length commentary by Violent J, Rude Boy and Alex which is quite soul-destroying to sit through.Violent J moans about not being able to sleep with the extras, about how the crew hated them because the band were partying in their tour bus while they were working long hours (what an asshole!), and how the crew almost mutinied when he tried to fire a "bitch" that brought her dog to the set. The other two just agree with everything J says, even if it's completely repeating - word for word - a story that they just finished telling. I'll give them the benefit of the doubt that this was ten years ago, and hopefully they've toned down a bit on the misogyny, homophobia, and general jackassery on display here. 

We also get a discography (oh joy!), and videos for the songs "Tilt-A-Whirl" and their cover of the Sly Fox song "Let's Go All The Way". Both videos are significantly better than this movie.

Worthless. Brainless. Humorless. A fucking chore to sit through, and a sad indictment of the Insane Clown Posse and their fans. Big Money Hustlas is a sad curiosity and is about as entertaining as dental surgery - and only slightly less painful. Stick to laughing at their absurd youtube clips and stay far away for this abortion of a film unless you're looking to cause yourself grievous mental harm.