Johnny Mack Brown rides across the old west until he reaches a seemingly abandoned ranch. Someone takes a shot at him with a gold bullet. It’s because the the ranch has a reputation for being haunted and everyone knows that the only way to take care of a ghost is to shoot at it with gold bullets.
(It’s common frontier knowledge!)
Johnny may says that he’s a simple cowhand who has been hired to look after the ranch but actually, he’s a government agent who has been sent to investigate the disappearance of rancher John Roberts (Forrest Taylor) and the theft of government gold. Bill Grant (House Peters, Jr.) is the main suspect in the Roberts disappearance but Roberts’s daughter (Lois Hall) insists that he’s innocent. Even though Roberts forbid Grant from seeing his daughter, Johnny Mack Brown suspects that Grant is being set up as well. Brown doesn’t buy the idea of the ranch being haunted either. If Fuzzy Knight was there, he’d probably see a ghost but Fuzzy takes this film off. Time for Johnny Mack Brown to investigate.
Despite the exciting title, Blazing Bullets is only a so-so B-western. Working without his usual sidekicks, Brown just goes through the motions and there’s not nearly enough action. A movie called Blazing Bullets should have had more blazing bullets in it. Today, it’s impossible to watch the film without expecting Harvey Korman to show up as Hedley Lamarr.
Originally filmed in 2010 but not released until 2018, Con Man is one of the strangest vanity projects that I’ve ever seen.
Originally entitled Minkow, Con Man tells the story of Barry Minkow. When Minkow was a teenager, he started a carpet cleaning business and he quickly learned how to both promote himself and how to lie about how much money he was making. The media ate up the story of the teenager became a millionaire by cleaning carpets. His father (Mark Hamill) was proud of him. His mother (Talia Shire) worried that he was moving away from God. A local mobster (Armand Assante) decided to get involved. It was eventually discovered that Barry was kiting checks, lying to insurance companies, and massively defrauding both his investors and his employees. After being busted by the FBI (represented here by James Caan), Barry Minkow was sent to prison.
In the film, teenage Barry Minkow is played by a young, handsome, and charismatic Justin Baldoni. When Barry gets out of jail, he’s suddenly been transformed into …. well, Barry Minkow. That’s right. Barry Minkow plays himself. Needless to say, Barry Minkow looks nothing like Justin Baldoni. It’s not just that the two men are different ages. It’s also that there’s no way to imagine Justin Baldoni transforming into the gargoyle that is Barry Minkow.
In prison, Barry Minkow is converted to Christianity by a prisoner named Peanut (Ving Rhames). After Minkow serves his sentence, he not only helps the FBI track down other con artists but he becomes the pastor of his local church. Despite his past, everyone loves and trusts Barry Minkow. Everyone talks about how charismatic he is, despite the fact that the adult Barry Minkow delivers his lines in a flat monotone and looks like he should be sitting over the entrance of a cathedral. People who suspect that they’ve been a victim of financial fraud start to come to Barry, asking him for advice. The always humble Barry is concerned that he’ll let people down but, in the end, even James Caan says that Barry is a great guy. “I’m doing the work of God!” Barry proclaims.
Yes, the film is fueled by pure ego. Unfortunately, it took more than ego to pay the bills so Minkow embezzled money from his own church, stole money from his congregation, and resorted to his old track of “clipping” checks to finance the whole thing. Shortly after the film was completed, Minkow was arrested and sent back to prison. (A hot mic caught Minkow bragging to James Caan about how he financed the film. After his arrest, Minkow denied he had ever said that and dared anyone with proof to turn it over. The film’s director proceeded to do just that. Barry Minkow was not only a criminal. He was a stupid criminal.)
As for the film, it sat in limbo for eight years. Eventually, talking head interview with Minkow’s actual victims talking about how much they disliked Barry were sprinkled throughout the film. (Shortly before Minkow starts playing himself, we hear one of his business partners say that everyone told him not to play himself.) The original film ended on a triumphant note. The new film — which was retitled Con Man — ended with real people talking about Barry Minkow going back to jail and casting doubt as to whether or not Barry ever even knew a prisoner named Peanut.
The film is a vanity project and not a very good one. Minkow is a terrible actor and, just in case we forget that fact, he reminds us by trying to hold the screen opposite James Caan and Ving Rhames. (Even Elisabeth Rohm manages to outact him.) As bad as the film is, the story behind it is endlessly fascinating. Barry Minkow was determined to become a star. (Spielberg’s Catch Me If You Can was an obvious inspiration.) Instead, he went back to prison and his vanity project was transformed into a roast. And it probably couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy.
4 Or More Shots From 4 Or More Films is just what it says it is, 4 shots from 4 of our favorite films. As opposed to the reviews and recaps that we usually post, 4 Shots From 4 Films lets the visuals do the talking!
Today is the 85th birthday of Greek filmmaker, Nico Mastorakis. And that means that it’s time for….
4 Shots From 4 Nico Mastorakis Films
Island of Death (1975, dir by Nico Mastorakis, DP: Nikos Gardelis)
Death Has Blue Eyes (1976, dir by Nico Mastorakis, DP: Nikos Gardelis)
Blind Date (1984, dir by Nico Mastorakis, DP: Andreas Bellis)
In the Cold of the Night (1990, dir by Nico Mastorakis, DP: Andreas Bellis)
Victor Trenton (Brad Leland) is a high school football coach who is determined to have an undefeated season so that he can score a college coaching job. However, when one of his players, Benny Robison (Fred Tolliver, Jr.), dies of a previously undiagnosed heart condition during a grueling practice, Trenton’s plans fall apart. Instead of rescheduling the next game, Trenton insists that his players play it. When an assistant coach forfeits the game, Victor starts to become the town pariah.
This is a short and simple indie film about the price of win-at-all-costs competitiveness. Even before Benny dies, Victor Trenton is not a particularly likable character. A part of him does care about his players but an even bigger part sees them as pawns in his quest to get a college position. When Benny dies, Trenton refuses to take any responsibility and descends into drinking and self-pity. When Trenton is sued by Benny’s mother, Trenton insists that nothing is his fault. By the end of the movie, Trenton has started to take some responsibility but the movie doesn’t end with a definite resolution. It’s up to the viewer to decide whether or not Victor Trenton is responsible or truly sorry for Benny’s death.
It’s not a totally satisfying viewing experiences but Brad Leland gives one of the most authentic “coach” performances that I’ve ever seen. He knows how to win football games and, for his hometown, that’s enough until it isn’t.
Hi, everyone! Tonight, on twitter, I will be hosting one of my favorite films for #MondayMania! Join us for 2013’s An Amish Murder, starring Neve Campbell!
You can find the movie on Prime and then you can join us on twitter at 9 pm central time! (That’s 10 pm for you folks on the East Coast.) See you then!
With Burt Young’s birthday just three days away, now seems like a good time to pay tribute to the man who was Paulie, Rocky Balboa’s best friend and occasional frenemy.
Today’s scene that I love is a classic Paulie scene. Rocky Balboa may be the world’s most popular boxer but Paulie’s getting a little tired of him. A pinball machine is about to pay the price. From Rocky III, here is a scene that I love.
4 Shots From 4 Films is just what it says it is, 4 shots from 4 of our favorite films. As opposed to the reviews and recaps that we usually post, 4 Shots From 4 Films lets the visuals do the talking!
The aliens are here …. or are they?
4 Shots From 4 Alien Invasion Films
It Came From Outer Space (1953, dir by Jack Arnold, DP: Clifford Stine)
It Conquered The World (1956, dir by Roger Corman, DP: Fred E. West)
Starman (1984, dir by John Carpenter. DP: Donald M. Morgan)
Predator (1987, directed by John McTiernan, DP: Donald McAlpine)
As some of our regular readers undoubtedly know, I am involved in hosting a few weekly live tweets on twitter and occasionally Mastodon. I host #FridayNightFlix every Friday, I co-host #ScarySocial on Saturday, and I am one of the five hosts of Mastodon’s #MondayActionMovie! Every week, we get together. We watch a movie. We snark our way through it.
Tonight, for #MondayActionMovie, the film will be 1989’s Shocking Dark!
If you want to join this watch party, just hop onto Mastodon, pull up Shocking Dark on YouTube, start the movie at 8 pm et, and use the #MondayActionMovie hashtag!
Food Wars is one of those anime that feels like it should be ridiculous on paper, but somehow turns that absurdity into part of its charm. Across its five seasons, it blends intense cooking battles, over-the-top reactions, and shameless fan service into a series that is equal parts culinary hype machine and anime guilty pleasure.
What makes Food Wars stand out right away is how seriously it treats food while never taking itself too seriously as a show. The cooking scenes are loaded with detail, and the anime clearly loves showing off the textures, colors, and techniques behind every dish. Even when the plot gets wild, the series keeps circling back to a genuine appreciation for cooking, competition, and creativity, which gives it more heart than you might expect from an anime known for clothes literally exploding off people after a good bite.
Anyone who has grown up watching the high-octane drama of Iron Chef—whether the original Japanese production or the iconic American version on The Food Network—will feel right at home with the structure of this show. Much like those classic programs, Food Wars relies on a foundation of thematic ingredient requirements, ticking clocks, and an intense panel of judges waiting to dissect every flavor. The “Shokugeki” battles, or culinary duels, capture that same competitive spirit where a single secret ingredient or a daring last-minute pivot can be the difference between legendary status and total failure.
One of the most defining aspects of the series is how it effectively gamifies the entire culinary experience, turning every kitchen session into a high-stakes arena. The show treats cooking like a complex strategy game where each ingredient choice acts as a tactical move and every technique serves as a power-up. This framing forces the audience to view food not just as sustenance, but as a weapon or a defense, making the act of creation feel as tense and strategic as a combat sequence in any traditional action series.
This competitive spirit extends directly into the tasting sequences, which are arguably the most iconic parts of the entire five-season run. When a judge takes a bite, the show transforms the experience into a sensory battleground where the flavors represent different forces, emotions, or even elemental powers that clash on the palate. By turning flavor profiles into visual and psychological challenges, the show ensures that tasting isn’t just about appreciation—it is a judgment call that defines the character’s growth, pride, and survival in the cutthroat atmosphere of Totsuki Academy.
At the center of it all is Souma Yukihira, a protagonist who is easy to root for because he is confident without feeling smug. He is the kind of main character who thrives on pressure, and the show uses him well as an engine for momentum. Every challenge becomes a chance to watch him improvise, adapt, and push himself in a way that keeps the series moving fast. He is not some brooding genius or chosen one; he is just a stubborn, talented cook who wants to prove himself, and that makes the whole competition structure more fun.
The supporting cast is a big reason the anime works as well as it does. Erina starts off as icy and intimidating, but the series gradually gives her more depth, letting her grow beyond the “judge with a famous tongue” gimmick into someone with real emotional weight. The Polar Star Dorm crew adds a lot of personality and warmth, giving the story a sense of community that balances out the cutthroat tournament energy. Even when the show leans into exaggerated comedy, the characters usually feel distinct enough that their rivalries and friendships stay entertaining.
One of the show’s biggest selling points is obviously the fan service, and Food Wars does not pretend otherwise. It uses exaggerated reactions, dramatic body language, and suggestive imagery as a kind of visual shorthand for how amazing the food tastes. That approach is part joke, part spectacle, and part stylistic identity. For some viewers, that is the whole appeal; for others, it is the thing that makes the anime hard to recommend without a warning label. Still, the series is self-aware enough that the fan service feels tied to its outrageous personality rather than just being randomly thrown in.
The first season probably captures the show’s identity best because it still has that fresh mix of school-life fun, cooking creativity, and escalating rivalry. The early arcs feel energetic and focused, with each battle building on the last and giving the cast room to establish who they are. As the series moves forward, it gets more dramatic and more tournament-heavy, which is both a strength and a weakness. On one hand, the stakes rise and the clashes feel bigger; on the other, the show can start to feel like it is repeating its own formula with just enough variation to keep going.
By the middle seasons, Food Wars becomes more polished in some ways and more excessive in others. The food presentation remains impressive, and the battles often feel like mini sports dramas, but the storytelling starts to lean harder into anime logic, rival schools, overblown power scaling, and increasingly ridiculous cooking showdowns. That is not necessarily a bad thing, because the whole series is built on heightened reality, but it does mean the emotional impact depends a lot on whether you are fully onboard with the show’s specific brand of chaos.
The final season is where opinions tend to split the hardest. Some viewers feel it loses the magic and becomes more generic battle shounen than cooking anime, while others still see it as a satisfying enough conclusion that keeps the core spirit alive. There are still character moments worth caring about, especially around Souma and Erina, and the show does try to give the story a proper sense of closure. Even so, it is hard to ignore that the later stretch does not hit the same high point as the earlier seasons, especially when the novelty of the format starts wearing thin.
What keeps Food Wars from collapsing under its own absurdity is that it genuinely understands the appeal of competition. The anime is about food, yes, but it is also about pride, craft, ambition, and the need to prove yourself through skill. That gives it a surprisingly strong backbone underneath all the comedy and fan service. When it is working at its best, the show makes cooking feel like a high-stakes art form, where one meal can define a relationship, a reputation, or a future.
In the end, Food Wars is the kind of anime you watch because you want something loud, stylish, and a little indecent, but you stay because it actually cares about the process of cooking and the people doing it. It is messy, exaggerated, and sometimes way too horny for its own good, but that is also why it sticks in your memory. Across five seasons, it delivers a strange but effective mix of genuine culinary admiration and total anime nonsense, and that combination is exactly what makes it such a recognizable cult favorite.
Johnny Mack Brown rides across the old west until he reaches a seemingly abandoned ranch. Someone takes a shot at him with a gold bullet. It’s because the the ranch has a reputation for being haunted and everyone knows that the only way to take care of a ghost is to shoot at it with gold bullets.
Through the Shattered Lens 