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Bad Movie Night

The Yin and Yang of Shaolin Dolemite
Posted by Socrates Crenshaw and Orlando W. Harris on Nov 1, 2003 - 3:52:00 PM

It was the best of movies, it was the worst of movies. Just reflect on the title itself- Shaolin Dolemite- every syllable dripping with ambrosia drenched promise. Blaxploitation meets chop-socky. "Sho-nuff!" meets "Hiya!" The yin and yang of bad movies, needing only some god awful monster dripping pus and slime from Planet X or the Ninth Dimension (and Rudy Ray Moore almost succeeded by his lonesome) to fulfill a most unholy triumvirate.

It started out well enough- a black Kung Fu master (named TwoPac) breaks into a temple, kills a dude and steals a mystic bowl (no, not that kind). We're thinking he's the good guy, especially with the name Shaolin Dolemite. In fact, we ended up rooting for him for most of the film.

But no, our hero is some student who walks the earth. If this wasn't enough of a portent that his spiritual focus is proper, he wears white (why does it have to be racial?). He dispatches with about forty teleporting ninjas, who can't teleport when they get their asses handed to them and just have to run like brave Sir Robin.

Somewhere between all this, Rudy Ray Moore (the original Dolemite) wanders around, spouting some kind of nonsensical wisdom; the likes of which can only be understood by liquid space brains like Bootsy's.

He is the Jar-Jar Binks to this Phantom Menace, having no relevance whatsoever. In fact he one ups Mr. Binks, by having no interaction with any of the other principal characters at all! Dolemite indeed.

The next two scenes are the reason to watch the movie. First is the noble sacrifice of Abbot White, with his foot-long white eyebrows.
Photo Taken By Rachelle Sadler
He gets lured to the desert where the ninjas sneak up, by burrowing at light speeds under the sands a la the gopher in Caddyshack (too bad Carl wasn't the Temple's groundskeeper. We hear the Dalai Lama is needing a new caddy too).

Some decent chop-socky ensues, including all sorts of aerial 'Fu, until Abbot White finally succumbs, with the best death in the movie to boot. Following this victory, the ninja general sends his deadly female ninja to dispatch our hero. What follows is the greatest idea ever in cinematic history; a topless Ninja Ho (no really, that's her name).

For nearly ten minutes (it sure felt that long) the Ninja Ho fights our hero with no shirt on. She begins to kick his ass and knock him to the floor, only to pummel him with a left-right combo of "ta-ta's" and garbonzas in the face why are we fighting again? Then a student enters and our hero asks for help, proving the latent homosexuality of Kung Fu mysticism.

The student runs off, being afraid to either fight or frisk because he's probably a eunuch. And our hero is left to fend off the breasts all alone. Pure movie magic.

Now, the movie is over; or at least it should have been. They gear up for a final climatic battle, which takes place over two days and lasts well over sixty minutes. Remember, the movie is a hundred and ten minutes roughly. Less than half way through, and they have run out of all their ideas.

We encounter the daughter of the guy that Twopac killed in the beginning, two white guys from Clan Eastsidaz who have beef with His 'Pac-ness'. One is fat and balding, the other a skinny 'poindexter'. But they're on our side! (God help us) Now you know why we wanted the black guy to win.

Photo Taken By Rachelle Sadler
For all intents and purposes, the movie was over, but our anguish wasn't. The subsequent nerve-rot we suffered will linger with us for years to come. If only we could submit an expense sheet to Canyon News to compensate the bills from our shrinks. But alas, we are volunteer writers, suffering for the good of humanity and the readers of Canyon News.

Speaking of which, why haven't you bastards written to us!? Don't you know how lonely it is here, especially with the problems Socrates' sister is having with the baby and Orlando's kids' separation, this is the light at the end of the tunnel, damn it.

Okay to sum up: crates of bodies, gallons of blood, good chop-socky, two pairs of breasts including the first ever topless fighter (call us wink-wink), nice wire work, tons of ridiculous stunts, and to top it off, Rudy Ray Moore doing his best jive Ozzy Osbourne impersonation.

Four kegs for the first fifty minutes, four nipple clamps from there on. See it tonight.

Think you've seen a worse movie? Are you tempted by something at the store but are too wimpy to view it yourself? E-mail any and all suggestions (that are not called Manos: Hands of Fate) to:


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