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The Human Tornado
[Xenon Pictures]
1976; color
Directed by Cliff Roquemore
Starring: Rudy Ray Moore, Lady Reed, Jimmy Lynch, Howard Jackson, Jave & Glorya deLani
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The Human Tornado is a perfect instance of a sequel outdoing it's predecessor. All the rough edges from the original Dolemite film have been smoothed out, and everything from the acting to the direction and editing is up more than a few notches. Rudy Ray Moore returns, of course - even slicker, more badass form than before - and this time he's got two missions to tackle. For one thing, our hero is on the run from a classically bigoted Alabama sheriff who caught Dolemite in bed with his wife and, later, accuses him of killing her. (The viewer already knows that when the sheriff found them, his deputy blew her away with a single shotgun blast.) If that's not enough of a set-up to build a movie around, once Dolemite gets back to the safe confines of Los Angeles, he finds his good friend Queen Bee has been forced out of her nightclub business. To make things worse, she and her kung fu enforcer girls have been kidnapped and her dancers have been forced to work at a rival club. Quicker than you can say "motherfucker!" (which he says that a lot), Dolemite comes up with a plan to get the girls back and re-establish Queenie's spot in the nightclub industry. Long story short - we all know that Dolemite's gonna rule the day by the time we get to the end of the last reel, but watching the way everything goes down is one hell of an entertaining ride. From the room-wrecking sex from which the movie takes it's name to the insane dialogue; the instant replayed stunts to the surprising ending. It's almost like you don't want this movie to end. And I didn't even mention the martial arts. Aside from the presence of then World Karate Champion Harold Jackson (adding legitimacy to the chop-socky), Dolemite lays down some of the most unique and strange kung fu I've ever seen. Something between an African tribal dance and schooled martial arts, his moves are nearly as mind-boggling as his endless array of outfits—and, believe me, the sartorial splendor is only a few steps below a Willie Dynamite level of outrageousness. (And instead of merely yelling 'hai-ya!' or something equally expected, he spouts off with guttural 'ooga-booga!' utterances.) From watching The Human Tornado it seems to me that, not only was Moore far more comfortable in front of the camera this time around, but the director had a much better grasp on the material as well as his stars and really got the most out of everyone and everything. One of the better blaxploitation flicks and, arguably, the best of the Dolemite movies.
—the Kommandant
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