Now Available on Laserdisc: Rapid Fire

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Rapid Fire is a celebration of the legacy of Bruce Lee, and an attempt at passing the cinematic torch to his son. Make no mistake, this movie’s primary excuse for existence is jerking off deprived Martial Arts movie fans stuck in a time before Bruceploitation. Both father and son died before their fame really took off but from the eerie slo-mo Kung Fu of the opening credits to the blown-out hair to his Liberal philosophies it doesn’t feel like a proverbial torch being passed so much as the smooth transition that can only be granted generationally. Nature-before-nurture. You won’t believe how many times it felt like I was watching an extension of Bruce himself as opposed to his son carving out his own niche: from the finesse to the wit, if only tweaked by their Lizard Oversee’r (cough… EXECUTIVE PRODUCER) to meet the demands of audiences in 1992. Think Enter the Dragon X Die Hard. But aside from the occasional motorcycle stunt or brandishing a gun, or fondling GRATUITOUS TIDDIES, Brandon sticks primarily to what made his father famous: kicking the shit out of dudes! And kick he can. Or could? What is a more appropriate tense?

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Selected Scenes: Doctor Dolittle

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Dr. John Dolittle, MD is sick and tired of the human race: an entitled and ignorant lot they are. It isn’t like he, too, hasn’t feasted on the wealth that being a small-town physician has offered him: he lives on an opulent compound in a clean mansion, and he never wears sweatpants. But enough is enough. Animals don’t talk back the same way humans do, nor do they demand so much from him. Animals don’t demand anything except the same compassion they offer people. If he could somehow learn to talk to the animals then maybe he could achieve the fulfilled and peaceful life that he seeks. He enlists the help of a talking parrot, whose gift for mimicry helps him translate (he still speaks English, but the animals don’t). Of course, being Planet Earth’s premier veterinarian-slash-pet therapist isn’t without its challenges. Among his adventures, he breaks a seal named Sophia out of a circus prison so she can be reunited with her husband in the wild. He dresses her up Weekend At Bernie’s-style and passes her off as his infant-sized grandmother to the unsuspecting passengers in his taxi-slash-horse-drawn carriage. FOOLISH HUMANS! By the way, did I mention this all takes place at the turn of the last century? And before he releases her, he looks into her eyes and sings her a hypothetical song about if the two of them could be together. Can he connect with animals where he cannot with women? Will he ever find love? IS THE UNION OF MAN AND SEAL POSSIBLE IN TODAY’S POLITICAL CLIMATE? THE PUBLIC DEMANDS AN ANSWER.

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the shotgun room

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The first entry in the “Shotgun Room” trilogy. For mature readers.

“An overburdened mother starts her first day of work for a new legal euthanasia program.”

No one wanted to admit to the idea, even when it was passed unanimously through Congress. The right to die. Lethal injection was tried and passed-on: there was never any real guarantee those people were conscious enough to legally decide whether to press the shiny red button – nestled atop a comfort handle in a debilitating grip; not to mention specialized staff that required specialized training that only a country in a recession could fantasize of. “Heaven forbid,” said the Men In Suits who decided everything for everyone else. They had to be sure these selfish casualties knew what they were doing, and that there would be no court action. No future action, period. A shotgun. One slug to the face would take anyone out; and anyone ballsy enough to shoot themselves in the face were prepared to die as far as the government was concerned. Every hospital was given a modest sum – taxpayer-supported, of course – to retrofit an unused area of some set measurement in the most private area of their grounds. Each was to be insulated with an industrial-sized FDA-approved compostable vacuum bag made of one-hundred percent consumer-grade recycled plastic, connected to a high pressure suction system powered by a sponsored vacuum system by Inc in an adjacent room. After willing participants were “sure this was what they wanted” and all the proper paperwork was signed they were escorted to this room. The bag would be zipped open for the volunteer and inside was a chair and the single-shelled shotgun. All they had to do was sit down and make the necessary adjustments: the federally-mandated sign that hung off the back of the door facing the chair helpfully suggested in a clear, legible font that your eyes should stare directly into the barrel.

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