
Martin Campbell’s The Mask Of Zorro still holds up today, thanks mostly to its sumptuous, sultry production design and three passionate, swashbuckling and delightfully self aware performances from Anthony Hopkins, Catherine Zeta Jones and Antonio Banderas. This was one of the first more intense and violent adventure films I saw as a young’un, and while the PG13 heroics seem tame in comparison to other films, it still has that menacing edge for me. Hopkins is a scene stealer as Don Diego, the fearless rascal who takes up the mantle of Zorro and passes it along to haughty young thief Alejandro (Banderas) years after he’s betrayed by despicable nobleman Montero (Stuart Wilson, slimy and then some). The real eye catcher is drop dead gorgeous Zeta Jones as Diego’s daughter Elena, whose swordplay and roguish attitude both match and spar with that of Banderas, their chemistry onscreen is pure Latin fire in full flame. It gets quite lighthearted and theatrical at times but this is after all Zorro and not Batman we’re talking about here, he’s kind of like the Latin Lone Ranger and the flamboyant flourish is part of the charm. The supporting cast is fun too, but Matt Letscher is a bit vanilla to play the dastardly secondary villain who literally keeps heads in a jar, they would have been better off going the grizzled character actor route instead of a golden boy like him. All is well with Maury Chaykin as a testy prison warden and the late L.Q. Jones as a crusty outlaw who mentors young Banderas and has arguably the most memorable scene of the film. The star power of our three leads is where it’s at though, Banderas is smokin’ good in the charcoal black outfit waving the classic needle sword around in people’s faces, Hopkins exudes an amused nobility and Jones… man, you don’t find beauty and charisma like that every day. James Horner’s score is a trumpet blast of celebratory cues that fires up the action energetically, Cecilia Montiel’s production design lovingly brings the world and time period to life, while Campbell paints in broad, playful director’s strokes, all to bring us what has become an adventure classic. There is a sequel, but it’s kind of a listless, gaudy retread that loses the magic in cheesy set pieces, stick with this diamond instead .
-Nate Hill





To paraphrase This is Spinal Tap, this movie goes to eleven, in a bugfuck-crazy fireball explosion at the genre factory. With a “begin as you mean to go on” ethos, the film opens with a spectacular, loud, and in-your-face slice of action in which we are introduced to protagonists Boyce (Jovan Adepo) and Ford (Wyatt Russell), two American paratroopers hunkered down on a plane dodging hot death in the night skies of France during D-Day in World War II. It is June 6, 1944, and Boyce and Ford are part of an outfit whose mission is to destroy a Nazi radio tower in a church in the French countryside. In a sequence that consumes a good dose of one’s adrenaline supply, the plane is shot down and the camera follows Boyce in a continuous shot as he plummets downward, through fiery inferno, towards the fields of destruction below. Dizzying and disorienting, this is one of the most impressive openings to any film this year, and though the movie does take its breath when it needs to, the pacing from here onwards never flags.
You gotta respect director Julius Avery and writers Billy Ray (Captain Phillips; The Hunger Games) and Mark L. Smith (co-writer on The Revenant) for going balls to the wall on this one. Overlord is like a mutant spliced from the DNA of Band of Brothers and Day of the Dead, with ’80s splatter liberally applied throughout. However over-the-top the film goes in terms of its violence, horror, and gore, it never winks or goes tongue-in-cheek; it plays everything straight throughout. And over-the-top it gleefully goes, with baroque body horror, unstoppable Nazi zombies, cable-veined and missing parts of their face, villains (and heroes) rising from the dead, a murky red reanimating serum straight out of a Stuart Gordon flick, and much Savini-esque bodily carnage, including a grenade-in-the-mouth head explosion gag that was in George Romero’s ambitious original script for his third zombie movie before he had to scale it back when he couldn’t get the required budget. The movie is as intense as having to operate on your own spleen, and many times as messy. If you’re a certain kind of horror fan and in the right frame of mind, you’re gonna fucking love it.


