This is the second part of an extensive two-part review of Arrow Video’s new boxset, The Nico Mastorakis Collection, which you should check that out for context (this part is a continuation after all), and to get a proper sense of the man, the myth… the Mastorakis.

READ PART ONE HERE

Mastorakis would unfortunately double down on the worst elements of Terminal Exposure for his next comic outing, Glitch! (1988), which is where this set, and his filmography, hits rock bottom. An infuriating dud from start to finish, Glitch! follows an amateur con-man and his bumbling sidekick, who pose as famous Hollywood producers after breaking into a billionaire filmmaker’s mansion. There’s some kind of crime subplot involving dodgy investors and the mafia, sure, but mostly this is just a nightmarishly exploitative wish-fulfillment fantasy for the worst kinds of white, cis-het men. If you’ve ever wanted to see the opening to Takashi Miike’s Audition (1999), played uncritically and with full sincerity, then this is the movie for you.

Featuring a smorgasbord of dodgy ethnic stereotypes and racist remarks, the “light-hearted” goofy comedy plot centres around the abuse, exploitation and sexual harassment of desperate Hollywood actresses. This, along with a “comedically” effeminate homosexual character whose characterisation feels demeaning and occasionally cruel in spite of the rare subversive quip, means it’d be difficult for you to come out of Glitch! not feeling at least slightly offended. More than anything, though, Glitch! offends just by being deeply, deeply unfunny – even Terminal Exposure managed to get a small chuckle out of me with one witty line, whereas Glitch merely irritates to the point of boredom.

The meta-remarks peppered throughout poke fun at the poor treatment and depiction of women in Hollywood media, and fall completely flat because Glitch is a prime example of said problems. Is it truly “self-aware” to complain about something bad when you’re actively contributing to said bad thing? There’s not even a climactic stunt sequence for this film to have a small saving grace (unless you count a brief remote-control helicopter pursuit), and even die-hard Mastorakis fans might want to skip this one.

Mastorakis’ following directorial effort, Ninja Academy (1989), is considered by most who have seen it to be his worst film, but compared to the fatal error that was Glitch! it’s honestly not that bad. As the title would suggest, Ninja Academy is Mastorakis’ attempt at making his own Police Academy (1984) – albeit with a flimsy martial-arts rivalry plot to set it apart enough in case Warner’s lawyers come a-knocking. It’s a mostly-harmless, and not entirely charmless, kung-fu ensemble comedy that’s unfortunately seldom all that interesting or memorable. It’s fairly watchable cheese, but it doesn’t particularly leave any lasting impact for better or for worse.

Ninja Academy’s biggest and most obvious flaw is how little it has to offer on the promised ninja front as there’s very little martial-arts action (ninja or otherwise), and most of the movie’s content seems to have almost nothing to do with the art and discipline of ninjutsu. You might think that I’m expecting too much from a direct-to-video ‘80s spoof until you consider the fact that Ninja Academy stars Gerald Okamura, a legitimate 5th-degree black belt martial artist whose role in the film feels like an extreme case of wasted potential. If it’s any consolation, Ninja Academy does give us a brief glimpse of what it would be like if Mastorakis directed a Bond movie and, to the film’s credit, the 007 parody character is its funniest element – largely because of a genuinely decent comic performance from actor Michael David.

Mastorakis would switch his comic inspiration from Police Academy to The Naked Gun (1988), for the final film in this set, The Naked Truth (1992), by which point viewers will have likely succumbed to some kind of Greek equivalent to Stockholm syndrome (which could be part of the reason why I’m kinder on some of these later titles). Though the Naked Gun influence is obvious from the title (and tone), this is essentially Mastorakis’ unofficial remake of Billy Wilder’s drag-comedy classic Some Like it Hot (1959) – albeit with more boobs, Arnie lookalikes, and a mafioso known as the “Ketchup Kingpin”.

The Naked Truth is, of course, nowhere near as good as said Marilyn Monroe-starring masterpiece (few things are), but for a Nico Mastorakis-directed “Skinemax” comedy, it’s pleasantly surprising enough to see that it features actual jokes with set-ups and punchlines. Granted they’re not always good jokes, and naturally some of them haven’t aged well (there’s an absolutely shocking Rodney King joke that would have arguably been even more grim and inappropriate at the time, if that’s even possible), but this is a slight return to form for Mastorakis – even if that form is variable and often dubious in quality.

If you’re looking for the purest distillation of Mastorakis’ style then The Naked Truth might be the one to go for, warts and all. It’s a barely comprehensible buddy-comedy that has strangely impressive and well-shot stunt sequences, live-action cartoon sensibilities, a cast full of strangely big names (Zsa Zsa Gabor? Lou Ferrigno?? Little Richard???), and a prominent element that I’ve neglected to mention until now – drag. From what I can tell, Mastorakis had some kind of fascination with cross-dressing and other forms of gender diversity, with the previously mentioned Sky High and Glitch! both featuring seemingly random drag interludes, and Mastorakis later going on to hire an unknown actor for .com for Murder (2002), simply because “he looked a bit like a hermaphrodite”.

Badly-aged jokes about trans and gender non-conforming people are to be expected from comedies of this era, but even though I don’t actually know how Mastorakis feels in this regard, I don’t see these moments in his films that way. I get the feeling, from watching him talk about his filmmaking process, that he’s legitimately fascinated by gender non-conformity in a way that I find genuinely charming.

The transfers of all six films in The Nico Mastorakis Collection are as good as any of these movies are ever going to look and sound. The Time Traveller and Sky High are noticeably the two best-looking films in the set, and they’re also the titles with the most pristine, spotless remasters out of the sextet (I think Nico would approve of my choice of wording here). It’s quite possibly because the digital remastering process for them was done in Greece, meaning that the prints for those two were likely already in the country.

The audio quality at some points in Glitch! is noticeably inconsistent, which is no fault of the new remaster as it’s obviously down to the less-than-satisfactory sound recording for some of the movie’s outdoor scenes. Extras include new interviews with select cast members of the films in the collection (plus Mastorakis himself for all six), though noticeably left-out are several making-ofs from the original Omega DVD releases. It’s a disappointing omission, especially given that the Omega making-ofs were frequently the highlight of Arrow’s previous Mastorakis releases.

I don’t know how much of a market there’s going to be out there for The Nico Mastorakis Collection (even among Arrow die-hards), and I’m not even quite sure who this set is for. As Arrow increasingly veers towards the mainstream with every new line-up and monthly line-up announcement, I’m once again confused and fascinated by their choice to release an obscure, borderline-unmarketable set like this (especially as it was sandwiched between 4K re-releases edition of 2015’s The Man From U.N.C.L.E. and 2010’s Clash of the Titans).

Some may call it a blessing and some may call it a curse, but personally I thank my fellow Nico-maniacs for this strange, brief glimpse into the most obscure and unmarketable corners of the filmography of a director who, in spite of all the many flaws of “auteur theory”, is proof that there’s some truth to it. In a weird way it gives me hope, and for all my complaints, it brings me a great amount of joy to see some dodgy, ultra-niche cult titles get a new Blu-Ray release like this. It’s proof that decades-old, unacceptable, borderline audience-less, weirdo cinema can survive long enough to grow from between the paving stones and get some of that fresh, life-giving sunlight – even if there’s the occasional chance that one or two of the six “plants” might be a Japanese knotweed.

Robyn’s Archive – Nico Mastorakis (Part Two)