Like From Dusk Til Dawn, Hangman’s Daughter is a gearshift exploitation movie that shifts genres and tones halfway through. Orlando Jones rounds out the cast as a naive, lisping brush salesman who tries to exchange brushes for booze, leading Trejo’s brusque bartender to indignantly reply, “We don’t need no stinking brushes!”, a hokey dad joke that made me groan and laugh twice, first at the Treasure of the Sierra Madre reference and then at myself for finding something so stupid and hack funny. Temuera Morrison from Once Were Warriors is appropriately imposing as a vicious hangman with a beautiful daughter and a dark secret regarding her origins. Parks leads a shockingly over-qualified cast that includes Gayheart, of course, as a bible-thumping do-gooder with an insultingly, distractingly bad Southern drawl, the great Danny Trejo as Razor Charlie, the hardass, seen it all bartender at the unholy palace of sin where much of the film takes place and Sonia Braga as the blood-drinking, undead mother of the title character. I doubt that Daly has seen the second direct-to-video From Dusk Til Dawn sequel but the parallels are borderline uncanny. I’ve already written about one Gayheart movie this month in the form of Too Smooth/Hairshirt but the kindly benefactor who commissioned the series gave me the go-ahead to skip ahead in the timeline and cover 1999’s From Dusk Til Dawn 3: The Hangman’s Daughter, since it fits the Direct-to-Video Sequels Month theme so snugly. I also recently began a series chronicling the films of bad boy auteur Oliver Stone. This generous patron is now paying for me to watch and write about the cult animated show Batman Beyond and I also recently began even more screamingly essential deep dives into the complete filmographies of troubled video vixen Tawny Kitaen and troubled former Noxzema pitch-woman Rebecca Gayheart. I’m deep into a project on the films of the late, great, fervently mourned David Bowie and I have now watched and written about every movie Sam Peckinpah made over the course of his tumultuous, wildly melodramatic psychodrama of a life and career. Or you can be like three kind patrons and use this column to commission a series of pieces about a filmmaker or actor. The price goes down to seventy-five dollars for all subsequent choices. It’s the career and site-sustaining column that gives YOU, the kindly, Christ-like, unbelievably sexy Nathan Rabin’s Happy Place patron, an opportunity to choose a movie that I must watch, and then write about, in exchange for a one-time, one hundred dollar pledge to the site’s Patreon account. Welcome, friends, to the latest entry in Control Nathan Rabin 4.0.
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