I recently caught a snippet of the old Saturday Night Live sketch in which Will Ferrell — in full-on, deadpan unctuous mode as Inside the Actor’s Studio host James Lipton — was mock-interviewing Kate Hudson, expertly portraying Drew Barrymore’s bubbly, wide-eyed mania. In it, he intoned that Charlie’s Angels was, many said, “The greatest television show of all time… created by humans.”

Well, the latter really isn’t in doubt, at least. Watching the junior season of the series, spanning the years of 1978 and ’79, it’s clear that Charlie’s Angels is about as preening and populist a slice of jiggly mass-entertainment as can be. Aliens couldn’t devise something this lightweight in its escapism and yet still so heartily insulated from substantive criticism. Yes, Charlie’s Angels is dumb. Next caveat?

The show, of course, centers around a trio of gorgeous female private detectives — Kate Jackson, Jaclyn Smith and Cheryl Ladd — who solve mysteries with the assistance of loyal aide Bosley (David Doyle) and the guiding hand and helpful financial underwriting of their unseen benefactor boss (voiced by John Forsythe), whom they know only as a disembodied voice over the phone. Original Angel Farrah Fawcett pops up for three episodes to further bump up the heat index in what would also be Jackson’s last year with the show.

So, how does one kick off a third season? Why, in Las Vegas, of course, and with a two-parter in which the girls blend in backstage in an effort to solve a murder. Other episodes include the Angels going undercover as cheerleaders (no guys, that wasn’t only an LSD-induced fantasy), as teachers at an all-girls boarding school and as runners in a marathon. There’s also “Counterfeit Angels,” in which the girls go underground to thwart a devious scam by three women who pose as the Angels in order to rob a sports arena box office. Guest stars herein include Dean Martin, Dick Sargent, Scatman Crothers, Robert Urich, Stephen Collins (long before 7th Heaven) and Jamie Lee Curtis (just before Halloween would put her on the map). Spread out over six discs in three slimline cases in turn housed in a cardboard slipcase, Charlie’s Angels: The Complete Third Season is presented in 1.33:1 full screen, with an English language Dolby digital track. Slight grain is steadily present throughout and the colors are sometimes inconsistent, seemingly born of different film stocks. There are also unfortunately no supplemental extras, a tragedy only reinforced by producer Aaron Spelling’s recent demise. Those with a deep and abiding nostalgic yearning for any of the lovely ladies of the cast will adore Charlie’s Angels, but those merely seeking more generalized classic TV kicks can kind better purchase elsewhere. C (Show) D+ (Disc)

The title Sex is Zero may conjure up jointly esoteric and allegorical thoughts of writer-director Don Roos’ 1998 indie The Opposite of Sex,
but South Korean filmmaker Je-gyun Yun’s wild and wooly imported comedy
is actually a bawdy college romp much more in the tradition of Porky’s and American Pie.

While
comedy is often thought of as very culturally specific — what’s funny
in one language doesn’t necessarily translate across the ocean — this
movie belies the notion that laughs can’t be universal. From its peppy
opening, set to the Go-Go’s “We Got the Beat,” to its catty female
conversations about breast size, stylized production technique,
sex-doll humping and copious gross-out humor, what’s amazing about
2002’s Sex is Zero is how much it feels like an American
adolescent comedy, how spot-on it is tonally. The story centers around
a pathologically shy first-year law student, Eunshik (Chang Jung Lim),
and his crush on the pretty Eunhyo (Ji-won Ha). The movie is chock full
of lively, Seann William Scott-esque supporting turns, however,
including the funny, flip Kyoungiu (Yi Shin) as one of Eunhyo’s
friends, and Songguk (Seong-Guk Choi) as a randy pal of Eunshik’s.

Those that found hearty hilarity in the pie-humping and DNA-tainted beer of the original American Pie will likely be similarly doubled over during Sex is Zero;
its set pieces include the accidental ingestion of a mouse, a
discussion of hand-job injuries, and a sequence in which one character,
out of eggs, decides to fry up a different kind of protein. (Needless
to say, this gets used on toast, and later eaten by a dimwitted
acquaintance who doesn’t believe his friends when they tell him what’s
actually on it.) Of course, there’s also a scene of hazing underneath a
banner that reads, “Spiritual concentration is our nation’s strength,”
so you don’t completely forget that you’re watching a foreign
flick. The cast is attractive and personable, and only the movie’s
late-act dip toward an unintended pregnancy and possible abortion earn
it a few demerits, since these hairpin turns in pitch and atmosphere
tend to feel like a negation of some previously established character
traits.

Housed in a regular Amray case, Sex is Zero is presented in
1.85:1 letterboxed widescreen, with its original Korean language track
and optional English and Spanish subtitles. Wildly gratifying is
distributor Panik House’s superlative treatment of the title, which
includes an English-language audio commentary track with Mike McPadden
and “Mr. Skin” of The Howard Stern Show (“I’m running out of
synonyms for tan nipples …”) and a Spanish-language audio-commentary
track with Jesus “El Pelos” Olvera, the entertainment editor of Al Borde.
An assortment of trailers, production notes, a photo gallery, poster
art, cast biographies and more lend valuably clarifying context to the
movie — which was a smash in its native land — but there are also a
whopping 20 minutes of bloopers and seven minutes of deleted scenes
that are just as fun as portions of the feature proper. The
transliteration of the title may raise some questions, but Sex is Zero richly proves that ribaldry is indeed universal. B (Movie) A- (Disc)

Following in the stop-motion animation footsteps of Willis O’Brien and Ray Harryhausen for 1967’s Equinox,
visual-effects master Dennis Muren and fellow monster maven David
Allen, both under 21 years old at the time, used a slew of preexisting
models that Allen had created as a teenager, including a towering, King
Kong-like ape creature, a tentacled underwater beast which would fit
right in in a kid-theater knock-off of the latest Pirates of the Caribbean sequel and a skeleton right out of Harryhausen’s The 7th Voyage of Sinbad.
The result was a film that inspired fellow monster-magazine readers,
showcasing the rich fruits of possibility of one’s own backyard
creativity.

Still, properly modulated and/or muted expectation is the key prerequisite for Equinox,
as those who don’t appreciate the craft and skill in adolescent
experimentation’s first tentative steps won’t be able to mine much
reward from this movie. Situated in flashback form, the story centers
around a group of four young, sleuthing, amateur archeologists — Jim (WKRP in Cincinnati’s
Frank Bonner), Susan (Barbara Hewitt), David (Skip Shimer) and Vicki
(Robin Snider) — who uncover horror in a dusty state forest. While
questing for a book of spells containing secrets of a strange,
malevolent world which coexists with that of mankind, they find
themselves under attack by winged beasts, huge apes and Satan.

Equinox is simplistic, yes, and its acting quite stilted, but
Muren and his writer and co-director Mark McGee utilize forced
perspective, in-camera editing and other sleights of hand to remarkable
effect for such a low-budget, DIY feature (the movie was shot over the
course of 1965 and ’66 for under $6,500). One interesting thing is that
the movie, originally inclusive of the subtitled moniker A Journey Into the Supernatural, was bought by legendary producer Jack H. Harris (The Blob)
on the strength of its special effects, and then passed off to unsung
filmmaker Jack Woods (who previously had helped edit John Cassavetes’ Faces) to lengthen and restructure.

Trimmed to just Equinox, but beefed up with ADR and other
bits to give the movie much more of a conventional horror bent, the
movie was released in 1970, and saw considerable success both in normal
distribution and as a reel-to-reel sell-thru item. While Allen and
Muren — the latter now a nine-time Oscar winner — have each gone on to
provide special effects for all sorts of beastly blockbusters, from Star Wars and Honey, I Shrunk the Kids to The Abyss and Jurassic Park,
their cachet in their field has only enhanced the cult status and
youthful charm of their debut creature-feature collaboration.

Both versions of the movie are presented in 1.33:1 full screen with
Dolby digital mono on Criterion’s new double-disc release, along with
the requisite slate of impressive bonus materials. Famous Monsters of Filmland
editor Forrest J. Ackerman provides a self-indulgent, seven-minute
video introduction, and there are two audio commentaries — one for each
version of the movie. On the 82-minute theatrical cut, Harris and Woods
sit together for a genial and exceedingly detailed chat in which they
pay considerable compliments to cinematographer Mike Hoover and offer
forth all manner of minutiae and trivia. (Ed Begley, Jr. on assistant
camera, ladies and gentlemen!) On the 70-minute original feature, Muren
sits for a solo track of reminiscence (on casting: Hewitt “was the
prettiest girl in my high school,” and thusly qualified) that’s nicely
blended with thoughts from McGee and matte artist/cel animator/effects
technician Jim Danforth regarding the amicable handover of the film to
producer Harris.

On the second disc, Muren sits for a seven-minute interview in which
he details his childhood fascination with effects, and urges young
aspirant filmmakers to reach beyond excuses and work with the tools
that they currently have. Interviews with Bonner, Hewitt and James
Duron are also included, along with deleted scenes and outtakes from
the original 1967 version, archival stop-motion test footage and a
short film featuring the same crew, 1972’s Zorgon: The H-Bomb Beast From Hell.
Promotional material and a extensive photo gallery of rare stills
nicely complement the trailer and radio spots that touted the movie’s
theatrical release, and a hearty insert booklet with testimonials from
Harryhausen and George Lucas, and an essay from Brock DeShane, richly
point up this title’s sub-set importance. B- (Movie) A- (Disc)