The Post That Never Ends!

I have a lot of episodes of "Wild West Tech" on my DVR. Nearly all of them, in fact.

If you don't know what "Wild West Tech" is, then I pity you.

WWT was a show produced for the History Channel from 2003-2005, hosted originally by Keith Carradine, otherwise known as the guy who played Madonna's boyfriend in her "Material Girl" music video.

Sure, the man has had a long and storied career, but that video was the first thing I remember seeing the guy in, so that's how he'll always be known in my fevered little mind.

Ol' Keith left the show after 11 episodes, handing it over to his older brother David in a classic episode of WWT where he lost the show in a poker game! Can you believe it?! It's hilarious!

At the end of the episode, Keith shows up dressed like Caine from "Kung Fu", telling his brother that he's decided to walk the earth, righting wrongs with his newfound spare time. Man, what a great episode.

The show is a mix of interviews with Old West "experts", re-enactments, and narration from our favorite Carradines, highlighting how the rapidly changing technology of the 19th Century played a pivotal role in many well-known historical events in the "Wild West".

Sounds boring, maybe? Well, it isn't. The show had a good sense of humor, never taking itself too seriously. Much of this was due to the late, great David Carradine and his very sarcastic tone. I think WWT really took off after David took over the show.

Bless his heart, Keith could never sell the humor in his narration. He carries this natural gravitas with him, making it very difficult to see him in a more comedic manner, which the show required. Whenever Keith made a joke, it always sounded like he was condescending, talking down to us "little children".

David, on the other hand, had a natural impish quality to him to begin with, making him a more natural fit for the material. And he seemed to genuinely enjoy himself during his on-camera segments, looking comfortable selling even the dumbest lines (and there were plenty on the show, make no mistake).

The show wasn't just entertaining. It actually taught me a thing or two about the Wild West. WWT introduced me to the amazing story behind legendary bounty hunter Bass Reeves, for example. Why this man's life hasn't been immortalized on the silver screen yet is a mystery to me.

I recently learned that a film called "Bass Reeves" is in production, and that piqued my interest. A quick IMDB search tells me that the film is being written and directed by Brett William Mauser. The man behind "War Dogz"?! Are you fucking kidding me?! What a fucking nightmare.

Speaking of nightmares, I suppose I should get to the real reason why I brought up "Wild West Tech", in the first place.

As I said, I have nearly every episode of the program sitting on my DVR. I've kept them on for three years now, and I have no intenton of deleting them. I like to watch them as I drift off to sleep, the soothing voice of David Carradine gently lulling me into a deep and restful slumber.

Two nights ago, I dreamt that all of my precious episodes of "Wild West Tech" had been deleted from my DVR. Panic gripped me as I opened the Recorded Programs menu again and again, hoping that I was hallucinating, that somehow the programs would just be there each time I checked.

But they were gone. Gone. And I was heartbroken.

When I woke up, I checked, and all was well. My WWT collection was still there, in all its digital glory. A sigh of relief.

Now you may tell me, Dear Imaginary Reader, that this dream was petty and inconsequential. And you would be absolutely right. But I can't control what I dream about.

Last month, I dreamt I was standing in an auditorium, pouring tap water from one beaker into another beaker, back and forth, ad nauseum. It was the most boring fucking dream I think I may have ever had. Why would I willingly dream about that?

In dreams, you're supposed to do amazing things, see impossible sights, indulge in your fantasies and engage in whimsical flights of fancy. I barely ever do any of that. Usually, I'm just pouring water into beakers or I'm wandering through my old high school, asking people where room D23 is.

My dreams suck.

Two things that don't suck?

"Black Dynamite" and "Bronson".

I recently watched these two movies on DVD. They never opened in Wichita theatres. If they had, I would have gladly seen them. But Wichita being Wichita, these things rarely work out. I was surprised "Moon" opened here, last Summer. That shocked me.

"Black Dynamite" was a lot of fun. I laughed heartily.

I've watched a lot of so-called "Blacksploitation" films in my day. I'm partial to "Bucktown", myself. It's a miniature epic. And Fred Williamson kicks all sorts of ass.

"Black Dynamite" captured the heart of the "Blackspolitation" sub-genre in its brief 84 minute running time, while good-naturedly lampooning the flaws of these films, creating a funny and affectionate satire that kept me entertained throughout.

I loved how the film ran with the conceit that everything was done in one take, like the filmmakers didn't have the money for coverage. Mistakes like flubbed lines, missed cues, visible boom mics in frame, and botched stunt work litter the film's landscape, and these "mistakes" make the film hilarious.

My favorite example of this lies in "Militant #2", played by Darryl Heath. He continuously speaks his stage direction, as if these cues were simply part of his performance.

The first time he does this, Black Dynamite, played by "Spawn" star Michael Jai White, briefly looks into the camera, then at the off-camera director, waiting for someone, anyone, to yell "CUT!". But after realizing that this is not going to happen, he continues on with the scene.

I laughed so hard, I nearly started crying.

Black Dynamite's insanely over-the-top reaction to the news that the residents of a neighborhood orphanage are addicted to heroin made my sides hurt.

Then there's the line that nearly killed me:

"Fiendish Dr. Wu! Your knowledge of scientific biological transmogrification is only outmatched by your zest for Kung Fu treachery!"

It's funnier in context.

I never thought much of Michael Jai White before this. He just never really left an impression on me. I knew that he was a skilled martial artist, and his big scene was cut from "Kill Bill, Volume 2", but aside from "Spawn" and "Universal Soldier: The Return" (uuugh), I never saw the guy in anything.

But after co-writing, producing, and starring in "Black Dynamite", I'm hoping someone takes notice and puts this man's career on track.

Or at least somebody should give him money to make a sequel.

"Bronson" is another ball of wax. Violent, British wax.

Before seeing the film, I didn't really know much about Mickey Peterson, AKA Charlie Motherfucking Bronson, aside from a few stray facts:

I knew he became infamous for being Britain's most violent prisoner. I knew he has spent over 30 years in solitary confinement. I knew he led a prison riot and had an affinity for taking people hostage in his cell.

When I saw the trailer for "Bronson", I immediately thought of Stanely Kubrick's "A Clockwork Orange". Mostly because the trailer was apparently designed to make me think of "A Clockwork Orange". It looked violent and unhinged, and I wanted to see it.

Nearly a year later, I finally got my chance.

"Bronson" glosses over huge chunks of Michael Peterson's life, which frankly disappointed me. Most of the real Charlie Bronson's prison escapades are simply not in this movie. I mean, he married a muslim in prison and converted to Islam for 4 years, becoming Charlie Ali Ahmed!

That wasn't in the movie. But I think it should have been.

Instead, the film spends a lot of time showing many of Charlie's brawls with prison guards. Sure, all the confrontations are filmed differently, but after the fifth time, it tends to feel a little samey.

Although I was rather fond of the sequence where he took a prison librarian hostage.

Bronson verbally abuses the man for five minutes, yelling and spitting, and the poor bastard is absolutely certain that this big, violent bastard is going to tear off his fucking head. After the warden calls, asking for his demands, Bronson basically tells the big man to fuck off, resigning himself to a fight.

He strips naked, then forces the trembling librarian to grease up his naked body Quick Quick QUICK before the guards arrive. Then he tells the librarian to stay out of the way as the cell door opens, throwing himself at the guards, calling them all "fucking cunts".

The whole scene just made me laugh. I'm not sure if it was supposed to.

Charlie Bronson narrates the film, frequently performing before a faceless crowd in the theatre of his mind, sharply dressed with his face painted up like some demented mime. These bizarre interludes worked for me, but I can see how these stylistic choices, as well as many others, might turn some people off.

Tom Hardy surprised the fuck out of me with his performance. All muscle and nervous tics and boiling rage, he is the reason to watch the film. Believe me when I say that this movie simply would not have worked if not for Hardy's brilliant, fearless portrayal of Mean Michael Peterson.

I can't believe that the dude who played Captain Picard's Romulan Clone in "Star Trek: Nemesis" transformed into this brick wall of a man. I didn't recognize the man. He was Charlie Bronson. And he is reason enough to recommend this film to you, Dear Imaginary Reader.

Well, that and the surreal David Lynchian sequence where Charlie visits his dear Uncle Jack. That was like a deleted scene from "Blue Velvet". I was half-expecting Dean Stockwell to show up and sing "In Dreams" into a droplight.

So Here's To Your Fuck, "Bronson"!