If you ever find yourself leaning over a sticky pub table trying to explain Galaxina to someone who’s never had the misfortune of seeing it, don’t bother explaining the plot. The scriptwriters certainly didn’t bother writing one. What we’ve got here is a 1980 exploitation Frankenstein that spends its first hour drifting aimlessly through deep…

Every now and then, cinema gives us a piece of pure, low-IQ perfection. A film so absurdly hyper-masculine that it feels like it was conceived and funded by a room full of concussed linebackers who had just watched Cobra and drunk three crates of cheap lager. Craig R. Baxley’s Stone Cold is that film. Ex-NFL…