Dir: Umberto Lenzi
Umberto Lenzi delivers a pretty incoherent effort with this bizarre, ridiculous giallo about a man being driven mad by those around him. The trailer is hilarious but sadly almost all of the film's good stuff is in there and ninety more minutes of nonsense can drag even the most patient viewer into a state of just screaming at the screen and wanting it to be over. It's odd that a film with such a linear storyline can feel so utterly impossible to follow. Lenzi tries to justify it with a twist that almost pulls things together (and an admittedly fantastic finalé) but the absurd dialogue ("I have a razor in my room. It's big, sharp and sexy!") and his ability to focus on irrelevant minute details of the plot for ages, then rush through something important makes this workaday thriller (with almost no sex or violence, I should add) feel like the antithesis of conventional filmmaking. It's an uneasy mix that while memorable and quotable for weeks afterwards ("I'M NOT A STRONG WOMAN, CHRISTIAN!") is tough to sit through. NB: no one uses the word "Spasmo" throughout the entire film. EL BOMBA!
Showing posts with label 0 (El Bomba). Show all posts
Showing posts with label 0 (El Bomba). Show all posts
Saturday, 10 March 2012
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Black Magic Rites (1974)
Dir: Renato Polselli
(aka The Reincarnation of Isabel)
I'm not even sure where to begin with trying to explain this. There's a witch/vampire called Isabella who gets burnt at the stake in some nebulous past where everyone wears funny hats. 500 years later, a cult of old dudes in red morphsuits try to ressurect her by killing naked virgins in a castle. Maybe? It's hard to tell because half of the actors play multiple roles and, thanks to fit-inducing editing, no shot lasts for more than a second or two. There's constant fire, psychedelic lighting, whips, chains and abundant nudity from some pretty ladies, yet somehow the total lack of coherence and technical ineptitude makes this near-unwatchable. The denouement includes 3-way sex with a podgy vampire who can't stop blinking, two naked girls prodded by pensioners with sticks for what seems like forever, a hunchbacked Donald Pleasance lookalike thrown into a snake pit with only two snakes in it, and a peculiar vision of Hell that's all red lycra and girls chained to stepladders. This film was lost for decades and, watching it now, it's not hard to see why. It is like staring directly into the mind of a complete lunatic. EL BOMBA!
(aka The Reincarnation of Isabel)
I'm not even sure where to begin with trying to explain this. There's a witch/vampire called Isabella who gets burnt at the stake in some nebulous past where everyone wears funny hats. 500 years later, a cult of old dudes in red morphsuits try to ressurect her by killing naked virgins in a castle. Maybe? It's hard to tell because half of the actors play multiple roles and, thanks to fit-inducing editing, no shot lasts for more than a second or two. There's constant fire, psychedelic lighting, whips, chains and abundant nudity from some pretty ladies, yet somehow the total lack of coherence and technical ineptitude makes this near-unwatchable. The denouement includes 3-way sex with a podgy vampire who can't stop blinking, two naked girls prodded by pensioners with sticks for what seems like forever, a hunchbacked Donald Pleasance lookalike thrown into a snake pit with only two snakes in it, and a peculiar vision of Hell that's all red lycra and girls chained to stepladders. This film was lost for decades and, watching it now, it's not hard to see why. It is like staring directly into the mind of a complete lunatic. EL BOMBA!
Monday, 12 April 2010
Splatter Beach (2007)
Dir: John Polonia / Mark Polonia
El Cheapo Z-Movie from the guys who brought you "Splatter Farm". This one is a fairly bland "Humanoids From The Deep" rip-off that, to my immense disappointment, contains little splatter and barely even a beach. Shot at perhaps the greyest, most miserable looking lakeside I've ever seen, this mercifully short (70 minutes) no-brainer manages to have a double-figure body count and yet not one real special effect. Instead, a guy in a $2 Halloween suit glues some twigs to his back and runs around shaking people by the shoulders until they dribble red paint all down their tops. Sometimes, they superimpose extra versions of the suited dude into the shot so it looks like there are three or four of him. I guess it's meant as a homage to the early straight-to-video shockers and some of the dialogue is endearingly goofball but really... this is bad and (even worse) boring stuff. There's a surf-punk band, a beach party and Misty Mundae - some of my favourite things - and it's still all about as dull as the scenery. EL BOMBA!
El Cheapo Z-Movie from the guys who brought you "Splatter Farm". This one is a fairly bland "Humanoids From The Deep" rip-off that, to my immense disappointment, contains little splatter and barely even a beach. Shot at perhaps the greyest, most miserable looking lakeside I've ever seen, this mercifully short (70 minutes) no-brainer manages to have a double-figure body count and yet not one real special effect. Instead, a guy in a $2 Halloween suit glues some twigs to his back and runs around shaking people by the shoulders until they dribble red paint all down their tops. Sometimes, they superimpose extra versions of the suited dude into the shot so it looks like there are three or four of him. I guess it's meant as a homage to the early straight-to-video shockers and some of the dialogue is endearingly goofball but really... this is bad and (even worse) boring stuff. There's a surf-punk band, a beach party and Misty Mundae - some of my favourite things - and it's still all about as dull as the scenery. EL BOMBA!
Monday, 14 May 2007
Candyman : Day of the Dead (1999)
Dir: Turi Meyer
Have your brain re-Todded by this chronologically questionable final part to the "Candyman" trilogy. Candyman (Tony Todd) returns to torment charisma-barren "Baywatch" star Donna D'Errico, who wanders around open-mouthed and vapid for much of the movie, while her friends are impaled on hooks. The most I learnt from this, between fading in and out of consciousness, was that if you taunt a fried egg for long enough, bees will come out of it. Absolute nonsense.
Have your brain re-Todded by this chronologically questionable final part to the "Candyman" trilogy. Candyman (Tony Todd) returns to torment charisma-barren "Baywatch" star Donna D'Errico, who wanders around open-mouthed and vapid for much of the movie, while her friends are impaled on hooks. The most I learnt from this, between fading in and out of consciousness, was that if you taunt a fried egg for long enough, bees will come out of it. Absolute nonsense.
Wednesday, 18 April 2007
Nightmare City (1980)
Dir: Umberto Lenzi
Truly atrocious Italian zombie fare that hits new lows even for a subgenre reknowned for them. I love, say, Fulci's trash as much as the next guy but Lenzi's shot at the formula is nothing short of embarrassing. A winged Trojan horse full of zombies arrives at a city airport in the form of an unmarked plane. They burst out, running, jumping and using weapons to trash their rather too athletic way through the population. The zombies just look like people in mud packs; their faces are made-up but not their necks or arms, although these other things are visible beneath their cheap shirts and dodgy cardigans. They move way too fast (I HATE running zombies - HATE HATE HATE) and there's just no story or characters or, well, anything to tie together all the scenes of incoherent, barely watchable mayhem. Attempts are made to intersperse the dime store gore with Mel Ferrer camping about in an army uniform, but this is not of interest to the sane. The ending - an unapologetic "it was just a dream" scam - should be illegal. Dull, dull, dull. EL BOMBA!
Truly atrocious Italian zombie fare that hits new lows even for a subgenre reknowned for them. I love, say, Fulci's trash as much as the next guy but Lenzi's shot at the formula is nothing short of embarrassing. A winged Trojan horse full of zombies arrives at a city airport in the form of an unmarked plane. They burst out, running, jumping and using weapons to trash their rather too athletic way through the population. The zombies just look like people in mud packs; their faces are made-up but not their necks or arms, although these other things are visible beneath their cheap shirts and dodgy cardigans. They move way too fast (I HATE running zombies - HATE HATE HATE) and there's just no story or characters or, well, anything to tie together all the scenes of incoherent, barely watchable mayhem. Attempts are made to intersperse the dime store gore with Mel Ferrer camping about in an army uniform, but this is not of interest to the sane. The ending - an unapologetic "it was just a dream" scam - should be illegal. Dull, dull, dull. EL BOMBA!
Sunday, 18 February 2007
Prison of the Dead (2000)
Dir: Victoria Sloan (aka David DeCoteau)
"Prison of the Dead" is a must for anyone who genuinely won't accept that there are movies out there that make all the quintessential 'turkeys' and 'razzies' in the world seem like Ingmar Bergman by comparion. This one appears to have been written and performed in the space of a night, with everyone high on crystal meth. It makes not a lick of sense. I'm not even sure where to begin with explaining the plot. A college kid (Patrick Flood - who has no neck!) fakes his own funeral to lure his mates into a haunted prison that, apparently, housed witches. They arse about with a ouija board and a bunch of glowing-eyed freaks pop out the ground to slash them up with spades, knives and what appears to be a giant toilet brush. All of this makes it sound better than it actually is. What could've been a great little B flick if they'd just kept it simple gets bogged down in unnecessary convolution. By about an hour in, it's not clear in the slightest why anyone's doing anything they're doing or even who is whom. Even if you're watching this for a cheap laugh, I defy you to be fully awake by the time the completely forgettable ending crawls onscreen. In fact, here's a test: if you've seen it, how does it end? EL BOMBA!
"Prison of the Dead" is a must for anyone who genuinely won't accept that there are movies out there that make all the quintessential 'turkeys' and 'razzies' in the world seem like Ingmar Bergman by comparion. This one appears to have been written and performed in the space of a night, with everyone high on crystal meth. It makes not a lick of sense. I'm not even sure where to begin with explaining the plot. A college kid (Patrick Flood - who has no neck!) fakes his own funeral to lure his mates into a haunted prison that, apparently, housed witches. They arse about with a ouija board and a bunch of glowing-eyed freaks pop out the ground to slash them up with spades, knives and what appears to be a giant toilet brush. All of this makes it sound better than it actually is. What could've been a great little B flick if they'd just kept it simple gets bogged down in unnecessary convolution. By about an hour in, it's not clear in the slightest why anyone's doing anything they're doing or even who is whom. Even if you're watching this for a cheap laugh, I defy you to be fully awake by the time the completely forgettable ending crawls onscreen. In fact, here's a test: if you've seen it, how does it end? EL BOMBA!
Saturday, 17 February 2007
Hellbreeder (2004)
Dir: Johannes Roberts/James Eaves
You were walking an eight year old child home? After 11:30pm? On a schoolnight? And you took a shortcut? Under the bridge? WERE YOU MAD?!
You were walking an eight year old child home? After 11:30pm? On a schoolnight? And you took a shortcut? Under the bridge? WERE YOU MAD?!
Friday, 2 February 2007
Blade: Trinity (2004)
Dir: David S. Goyer
Gratuitous third installment in this series of mindless vamp-romps sees Blade (Wesley Snipes) teaming up with a hip and happening team of young slayers called The Nightstalkers to take on Dracula himself. Sadly, Dracula looks and dresses like a reject from a German hip hop band and isn't a convincingly dangerous enemy for a second of his screen time (although he does throw a baby across a rooftop at one point - ouch). This film is simultaneously the best and worst of the series. The plot is lazy, derivative and full of holes; the acting is atrocious; the dialogue is almost entirely made up of sub-Joss-Whedon wisecracking, and the whole script is littered with misguided pop culture references (ie: "She loves to listen to mp3s when she hunts. Dark core and trip hop, you know"). However, it's the best because it has A VAMPIRE POMERANIAN ATTACKING A SHIRTLESS RYAN REYNOLDS. Genius! Reynolds shines throughout this and his (possibly improvised) dialogue is frequently hilarious, loaded with creative language like "cockjuggling thundercunt". Still, even his screen time can't save this most cynical and ridiculous effort. The (nonsensical) ending paves the way for a fourth "Blade" movie. God help us all. EL BOMBA!
Gratuitous third installment in this series of mindless vamp-romps sees Blade (Wesley Snipes) teaming up with a hip and happening team of young slayers called The Nightstalkers to take on Dracula himself. Sadly, Dracula looks and dresses like a reject from a German hip hop band and isn't a convincingly dangerous enemy for a second of his screen time (although he does throw a baby across a rooftop at one point - ouch). This film is simultaneously the best and worst of the series. The plot is lazy, derivative and full of holes; the acting is atrocious; the dialogue is almost entirely made up of sub-Joss-Whedon wisecracking, and the whole script is littered with misguided pop culture references (ie: "She loves to listen to mp3s when she hunts. Dark core and trip hop, you know"). However, it's the best because it has A VAMPIRE POMERANIAN ATTACKING A SHIRTLESS RYAN REYNOLDS. Genius! Reynolds shines throughout this and his (possibly improvised) dialogue is frequently hilarious, loaded with creative language like "cockjuggling thundercunt". Still, even his screen time can't save this most cynical and ridiculous effort. The (nonsensical) ending paves the way for a fourth "Blade" movie. God help us all. EL BOMBA!
Tuesday, 12 December 2006
Crawlspace (1986)
Dir: David Schmoeller
Empire Pictures funded nonsense with Klaus Kinski as a mad Nazi landlord who spends his time crawling through the air vents of his building, spying on female residents, beheading rats, applying lady make-up, watching Hitler rallies on a projector, playing Russian roulette and killing people indiscriminately. In fairness, Kinski is a blast in this and his creepiness carries the otherwise abysmal movie single-handedly. The screenplay is total balls, although I did learn a lot about women from it. Did you know that, when alone, women will cut peepholes out of their bras in front of the mirrors and perform studio quality renditions of bad 80s ballads on the piano? Or that, when in groups, women will hold slumber parties in which they all drink tequila milkshakes, giggle about boys and jump up onto tables shrieking when they see a rat on the floor? Educational value aside though, the film bites. A lot of it feels improvised and even at 80 minutes, it's one Hell of a slog. Although it's almost redeemed by a lunatic scene in which the sexagenerian Kinski, dressed in an old man's jumper and full face make-up, finds a metal sheet on wheels and propels himself through the air vents as though bodyboarding, for what seems like about 10 minutes. A wonderfully inventive and unintentionally hilarious moment. EL BOMBA!
Empire Pictures funded nonsense with Klaus Kinski as a mad Nazi landlord who spends his time crawling through the air vents of his building, spying on female residents, beheading rats, applying lady make-up, watching Hitler rallies on a projector, playing Russian roulette and killing people indiscriminately. In fairness, Kinski is a blast in this and his creepiness carries the otherwise abysmal movie single-handedly. The screenplay is total balls, although I did learn a lot about women from it. Did you know that, when alone, women will cut peepholes out of their bras in front of the mirrors and perform studio quality renditions of bad 80s ballads on the piano? Or that, when in groups, women will hold slumber parties in which they all drink tequila milkshakes, giggle about boys and jump up onto tables shrieking when they see a rat on the floor? Educational value aside though, the film bites. A lot of it feels improvised and even at 80 minutes, it's one Hell of a slog. Although it's almost redeemed by a lunatic scene in which the sexagenerian Kinski, dressed in an old man's jumper and full face make-up, finds a metal sheet on wheels and propels himself through the air vents as though bodyboarding, for what seems like about 10 minutes. A wonderfully inventive and unintentionally hilarious moment. EL BOMBA!
Monday, 9 October 2006
Dark Devil
Dir: Denchat Rakyart
A Thai village is terrorised by a black magician who specialises in killing women and then bringing them back to life as subserviant undead housewives. This is an appealing prospect to various village sleazeballs who enlist the conjurer's help in enslaving their respective crushes. But never fear; all this misogynist villainy is thwarted by a pair of righteous Buddhist monks, who use karma and dharma to kick evil's ass! RIGHTEOUS, DUDES! This is a very strange film indeed; it plays like a public access rural soap opera (shot on camcorder, bright pastel colours everywhere, tranquil muzak, inane villager chatter ad nauseam) and then every now and again it feels as though someone has mischievously superimposed a bunch of CGI ghouls and gore over the top. If it wasn't so damn weird (made even weirder by the excruciating 'Engrish' subtitles on the R3 DVD), this would probably be unwatchable. It's essentially one 80-minute-long advert for Buddhism, but its combination of the unpredictable and the banal keeps it oddly engaging (for all the wrong reasons) on a first viewing. The ending has to be seen to be believed and, while I don't wish to ruin it for you, I can tell you it involves giant spectral cows fighting with lightning bolts in the sky. Oh yes. Also essential viewing for anyone amused by seemingly endless scenes in which Thai goofballs vomit up rusty nails, scorpions and, at one point, swords. EL BOMBA!
A Thai village is terrorised by a black magician who specialises in killing women and then bringing them back to life as subserviant undead housewives. This is an appealing prospect to various village sleazeballs who enlist the conjurer's help in enslaving their respective crushes. But never fear; all this misogynist villainy is thwarted by a pair of righteous Buddhist monks, who use karma and dharma to kick evil's ass! RIGHTEOUS, DUDES! This is a very strange film indeed; it plays like a public access rural soap opera (shot on camcorder, bright pastel colours everywhere, tranquil muzak, inane villager chatter ad nauseam) and then every now and again it feels as though someone has mischievously superimposed a bunch of CGI ghouls and gore over the top. If it wasn't so damn weird (made even weirder by the excruciating 'Engrish' subtitles on the R3 DVD), this would probably be unwatchable. It's essentially one 80-minute-long advert for Buddhism, but its combination of the unpredictable and the banal keeps it oddly engaging (for all the wrong reasons) on a first viewing. The ending has to be seen to be believed and, while I don't wish to ruin it for you, I can tell you it involves giant spectral cows fighting with lightning bolts in the sky. Oh yes. Also essential viewing for anyone amused by seemingly endless scenes in which Thai goofballs vomit up rusty nails, scorpions and, at one point, swords. EL BOMBA!
Tuesday, 15 August 2006
Big Meat Eater (1982)
Dir: Chris Windsor
A no-budget musical horror in which a small town butcher hires a large, fez-wearing weirdo (the titular character) as his assistant. From here, everything goes to pot. Dogs end up in the sausages, townsfolk get fed to one another, the mayor ends up as a zombie, a troupe of Turkish dancing girls are taught how to "boogie to the front, boogie to the back", alien robots hide a rare fuel (balonium!) underneath the shop, then both the butcher and a local boy genius are temporarily mutated into paper-maché green-skinned monsters! This is all punctuated with clumsy, tune-barren song and dance numbers, execrable dialogue and zero production values. It sounds almost fun but it's painfully slow (endless padding shots) and so ludicrous as to actually achieve almost 100% incoherence. There's certainly little attempt at a linear storyline and the jokes, while pleasingly absurd at first, soon get excruciating. The rhyming couplet, "I'm a big meat eater, yes I am / I'm a big meat eater, pass the ham" is about the best thing about this movie. It makes Plan 9 look like Plan 1. EL BOMBA!
A no-budget musical horror in which a small town butcher hires a large, fez-wearing weirdo (the titular character) as his assistant. From here, everything goes to pot. Dogs end up in the sausages, townsfolk get fed to one another, the mayor ends up as a zombie, a troupe of Turkish dancing girls are taught how to "boogie to the front, boogie to the back", alien robots hide a rare fuel (balonium!) underneath the shop, then both the butcher and a local boy genius are temporarily mutated into paper-maché green-skinned monsters! This is all punctuated with clumsy, tune-barren song and dance numbers, execrable dialogue and zero production values. It sounds almost fun but it's painfully slow (endless padding shots) and so ludicrous as to actually achieve almost 100% incoherence. There's certainly little attempt at a linear storyline and the jokes, while pleasingly absurd at first, soon get excruciating. The rhyming couplet, "I'm a big meat eater, yes I am / I'm a big meat eater, pass the ham" is about the best thing about this movie. It makes Plan 9 look like Plan 1. EL BOMBA!
Monday, 5 June 2006
Crimson (1973)
Dir: Juan Fortny
Some movies, especially nowadays, go out of their way to be weird or outlandish. Others, without even trying, are just genuinely weird. This old Paul Naschy turkey (recently re-released on budget DVD under the name, "The Man With The Severed Head") definitely falls into the latter category. The omnipresent hombre lobo plays a criminal who gets shot in the head by police when escaping from a heist gone wrong. The only way for his loyal gang members to save him is to blackmail a mad scientist into performing an experimental brain transplant with a rival gang leader called 'The Sadist' (whom they dispose of by shooting, before decapitating him under a train and stealing his head!). What makes "Crimson" REALLY weird though is the multitude of inappropriately surreal interludes (the 'vulcan ballet' scene in particular), the campy Russ Meyer style dialogue, the hysterically awful dubbing (everyone sounds squeaky and out of breath) and the incoherent final reel, which involves Naschy running around the countryside with what appears to be a giant nappy on his head, grunting and touching up fully clothed girls. Hilariously awful stuff and, unsurprisingly, one of Quentin Tarantino's favourite movies. EL BOMBA!
Some movies, especially nowadays, go out of their way to be weird or outlandish. Others, without even trying, are just genuinely weird. This old Paul Naschy turkey (recently re-released on budget DVD under the name, "The Man With The Severed Head") definitely falls into the latter category. The omnipresent hombre lobo plays a criminal who gets shot in the head by police when escaping from a heist gone wrong. The only way for his loyal gang members to save him is to blackmail a mad scientist into performing an experimental brain transplant with a rival gang leader called 'The Sadist' (whom they dispose of by shooting, before decapitating him under a train and stealing his head!). What makes "Crimson" REALLY weird though is the multitude of inappropriately surreal interludes (the 'vulcan ballet' scene in particular), the campy Russ Meyer style dialogue, the hysterically awful dubbing (everyone sounds squeaky and out of breath) and the incoherent final reel, which involves Naschy running around the countryside with what appears to be a giant nappy on his head, grunting and touching up fully clothed girls. Hilariously awful stuff and, unsurprisingly, one of Quentin Tarantino's favourite movies. EL BOMBA!
Wednesday, 26 April 2006
The Howling 2 (1985)
Dir: Philippe Mora
This ludicrous sequel (subtitled "Your Sister Is A Werewolf!") isn't even fit to poop-scoop up after the original. It opens with Christopher Lee (who has publically derided this as "the low point" of his career) floating through space with a skeleton (!), warning the viewer of a dreadful, ancient evil. When he's not surfing the astral superhighway, Lee loiters at funerals, makes wild claims (ie: that older werewolves cannot be killed by silver bullets ("only titanium" - natch!)) and persuades a couple of non-entity pseudo-reporter types to go to Transylvania with him, in search of a wolf cult. One very musical human sacrifice later and an aging were-queen (Sybil Danning) materialises, ready to spend the rest of the film in a state of undress before learning how to shoot laser beams from her fingers in time for the finalé. If this all sounds entertaining, don't be fooled. Despite wacky set designs, OTT fetish costumes and a sadistically catchy theme song ("by the paaaale paaaaale moooon!"), "The Howling 2" is a plodding, dreary, poorly-lit experience, loaded with obvious padding (including two hand-puppet shows!) and truly atrocious dialogue. Even the hot'n'sweaty were-humping from Danning and her furry cronies can't liven this one up. EL BOMBA!
This ludicrous sequel (subtitled "Your Sister Is A Werewolf!") isn't even fit to poop-scoop up after the original. It opens with Christopher Lee (who has publically derided this as "the low point" of his career) floating through space with a skeleton (!), warning the viewer of a dreadful, ancient evil. When he's not surfing the astral superhighway, Lee loiters at funerals, makes wild claims (ie: that older werewolves cannot be killed by silver bullets ("only titanium" - natch!)) and persuades a couple of non-entity pseudo-reporter types to go to Transylvania with him, in search of a wolf cult. One very musical human sacrifice later and an aging were-queen (Sybil Danning) materialises, ready to spend the rest of the film in a state of undress before learning how to shoot laser beams from her fingers in time for the finalé. If this all sounds entertaining, don't be fooled. Despite wacky set designs, OTT fetish costumes and a sadistically catchy theme song ("by the paaaale paaaaale moooon!"), "The Howling 2" is a plodding, dreary, poorly-lit experience, loaded with obvious padding (including two hand-puppet shows!) and truly atrocious dialogue. Even the hot'n'sweaty were-humping from Danning and her furry cronies can't liven this one up. EL BOMBA!
Monday, 17 April 2006
The Devil Bat (1940)
Dir: Jean Yarbrough
Truly ridiculous, no-budget vehicle for Bela Lugosi to camp it up as a mad scientist with a grudge. The first scene (footage that gets looped several times later on, to pad out running time) involves Lugosi in his lab, strapping on a pair of crazy goggles and laughing maniacally for about ten minutes as he makes lights flash and turns a normal size bat into a giant rubber monstrosity. He then palms off an "experimental shaving lotion" to a bunch of people he wants to kill. This, when applied to "the tender parts of their neck", attracts the Devil Bat's attention. Cue lots of poorly lit shots of the most laughably fake bat I've ever seen being launched violently at the actors by angry stage-hands. The plot is virtually non-existent and the above few sentences pretty much sum up the entire thing (although the action is frequently intercut by footage of spinning newspaper headlines, repeating exactly what's just been said in the previous scene, in case you dozed off and missed it). It's almost worth watching, just for when the police eventually catch Lugosi and ask him how he created the Devil Bat, only to be told ominously "you wouldn't understand the true nature of scientific discovery"! I mean, duh! A lot of films from this era are rightly regarded as classics, but "The Devil Bat" is not one of them. Only should be viewed by people who are still labouring under the misapprehension that Ed Wood made the worst films ever. EL BOMBA!
Truly ridiculous, no-budget vehicle for Bela Lugosi to camp it up as a mad scientist with a grudge. The first scene (footage that gets looped several times later on, to pad out running time) involves Lugosi in his lab, strapping on a pair of crazy goggles and laughing maniacally for about ten minutes as he makes lights flash and turns a normal size bat into a giant rubber monstrosity. He then palms off an "experimental shaving lotion" to a bunch of people he wants to kill. This, when applied to "the tender parts of their neck", attracts the Devil Bat's attention. Cue lots of poorly lit shots of the most laughably fake bat I've ever seen being launched violently at the actors by angry stage-hands. The plot is virtually non-existent and the above few sentences pretty much sum up the entire thing (although the action is frequently intercut by footage of spinning newspaper headlines, repeating exactly what's just been said in the previous scene, in case you dozed off and missed it). It's almost worth watching, just for when the police eventually catch Lugosi and ask him how he created the Devil Bat, only to be told ominously "you wouldn't understand the true nature of scientific discovery"! I mean, duh! A lot of films from this era are rightly regarded as classics, but "The Devil Bat" is not one of them. Only should be viewed by people who are still labouring under the misapprehension that Ed Wood made the worst films ever. EL BOMBA!
Saturday, 8 April 2006
Gore-Met Zombie Chef From Hell (1986)
Dir: Don Swan
High-camp, no-budget gorefest from the 80s that enlightens viewers on the legend of 'Goza' (Theo Depuay), rebel member of an ancient sect called The Righteous Brotherhood. Seems Goza has "lost that loving feeling" (geddit?), so in 1386, his fellow cultists curse him to live eternally. The catch is that his body will deteriorate horribly if he doesn't eat human flesh every day. Flash-forward 600 years and Goza is a Hawaiian-shirt-wearing dandy, running a beach-side restaurant that serves up blood in the cocktails, surfer chicks in the burgers and health inspectors in the soup! You can probably guess the rest. Especially if you've seen "Blood Feast". Made-up rituals, nonsense dialogue and gratuitous cannibalism abound but, on a technical level, "Gore-Met.." makes even "Orgy of the Dead" seem like "Apocalypse Now". The photography is one step lower than home-movie standard, the acting is so bad and miscast it's actually surreal (priests in hoodies?) and the choppings, slicings, heart-rippings, drillings and decapitations are laughably unconvincing. On the other hand, the spontaneous blues jams (!), over-abundance of loud shirts, constant beer-drinking and frequent dance eruptions give the impression that the filmmakers were having a party rather than making a movie. This sense of fun is, against all better judgement, surprisingly contagious and undeniably genuine. As a result, it's with the greatest affection that I award this rating: EL BOMBA!
High-camp, no-budget gorefest from the 80s that enlightens viewers on the legend of 'Goza' (Theo Depuay), rebel member of an ancient sect called The Righteous Brotherhood. Seems Goza has "lost that loving feeling" (geddit?), so in 1386, his fellow cultists curse him to live eternally. The catch is that his body will deteriorate horribly if he doesn't eat human flesh every day. Flash-forward 600 years and Goza is a Hawaiian-shirt-wearing dandy, running a beach-side restaurant that serves up blood in the cocktails, surfer chicks in the burgers and health inspectors in the soup! You can probably guess the rest. Especially if you've seen "Blood Feast". Made-up rituals, nonsense dialogue and gratuitous cannibalism abound but, on a technical level, "Gore-Met.." makes even "Orgy of the Dead" seem like "Apocalypse Now". The photography is one step lower than home-movie standard, the acting is so bad and miscast it's actually surreal (priests in hoodies?) and the choppings, slicings, heart-rippings, drillings and decapitations are laughably unconvincing. On the other hand, the spontaneous blues jams (!), over-abundance of loud shirts, constant beer-drinking and frequent dance eruptions give the impression that the filmmakers were having a party rather than making a movie. This sense of fun is, against all better judgement, surprisingly contagious and undeniably genuine. As a result, it's with the greatest affection that I award this rating: EL BOMBA!
Tuesday, 28 March 2006
Pet Semetary (1989)
Dir: Mary Lambert
Stephen King adapts one of his most popular novels for the big screen, seemingly by typing with his toes, blindfolded, on Class "A" drugs; all in under five minutes ... Clumsy and hackneyed are adjectives that wouldn't even begin to describe this clunkin' hunk'o'junk's sorry-ass screenplay. A family who move into one seriously inappropriate house for children (it's right in front of a main trucking route and doesn't even have a fence in the front yard) are surprised when their kid gets run over. Luckily, there's an Indian burial ground next door (oh, that old chestnut!) and, according to their creepy-ass drunkard neighbour (Fred Gwynne, tragically slumming it here), it can bring the dead back to life if you put them in the soil. Next thing you know, dead kid's up and running with new-found skills in telephony, knot-tying, scalpel-hunting and corpse-stashing. None of this is really elaborated on and yet it all takes itself so seriously that an explanation is sorely needed. Instead, we just get melodramatic, pseudo-philosophical rhapsodising on the nature of death. The acting is atrocious (Dale Midkiff, as the family father, seems to be in a particularly talky coma) and director Mary Lambert clearly doesn't have a passion for the genre and (over)compensates by loading her film full of every cliché in the book (echoey voices, copious dry ice, loud bangs, gratuitous gore, etc). The animatronic child puppet steals the show from everyone and, if it wasn't for the totally gnarly Ramones song at the end, "Pet Semetary" would be entirely worthless. It's odd because I remember watching this when I was a wee lad and really enjoying it, but as an adult, it's just too poorly executed and downright stupid to work in the slightest. EL BOMBA!
Stephen King adapts one of his most popular novels for the big screen, seemingly by typing with his toes, blindfolded, on Class "A" drugs; all in under five minutes ... Clumsy and hackneyed are adjectives that wouldn't even begin to describe this clunkin' hunk'o'junk's sorry-ass screenplay. A family who move into one seriously inappropriate house for children (it's right in front of a main trucking route and doesn't even have a fence in the front yard) are surprised when their kid gets run over. Luckily, there's an Indian burial ground next door (oh, that old chestnut!) and, according to their creepy-ass drunkard neighbour (Fred Gwynne, tragically slumming it here), it can bring the dead back to life if you put them in the soil. Next thing you know, dead kid's up and running with new-found skills in telephony, knot-tying, scalpel-hunting and corpse-stashing. None of this is really elaborated on and yet it all takes itself so seriously that an explanation is sorely needed. Instead, we just get melodramatic, pseudo-philosophical rhapsodising on the nature of death. The acting is atrocious (Dale Midkiff, as the family father, seems to be in a particularly talky coma) and director Mary Lambert clearly doesn't have a passion for the genre and (over)compensates by loading her film full of every cliché in the book (echoey voices, copious dry ice, loud bangs, gratuitous gore, etc). The animatronic child puppet steals the show from everyone and, if it wasn't for the totally gnarly Ramones song at the end, "Pet Semetary" would be entirely worthless. It's odd because I remember watching this when I was a wee lad and really enjoying it, but as an adult, it's just too poorly executed and downright stupid to work in the slightest. EL BOMBA!
Monday, 30 January 2006
The Phantom of the Opera (1998)
Dir: Dario Argento
Argento, never renowned for his coherent screenplays, plumbs new depths of trumpery with this loose and ludicrous adaptation of the classic novel. The Phantom no longer has scars or wears a mask. Instead, it's just Julian Sands looking like a creepy old hippy, sniffing shoes, babbling and stuffing rats down his leather pants for sexual gratification. As Christine, the Phantom's lover, Asia Argento lip syncs badly to opera and strips naked for her father's alarmingly lecherous camera. Meanwhile, throughout the opera house, unutterable nonsense occurs. We have a midget riding atop an oven with wheels, sucking rats up with a home-made vacuum cleaner; two camp Englishmen fussin' and fightin' in a bath-house full of saggy nudists; strange bursts of light and smoke that make people go mad and shred their hands in mousetraps; some overblown and uncharacteristically shoddy gore FX by Sergio Stivaletti (the chandelier massacre sequence is genuinely laughable); dialogue that physically hurts your ears to listen to (ie: "He only has a bout of malaria, it'll be gone in two minutes" / "I was born in the river of space and time and raised by creatures. This is the reason for my double nature."). By the time you get round to a slimy, opium-smoking Raoul slapping up whores for no discernible reason, Gaston Leroux is spinning in his grave even faster than you're reaching for the "STOP" button. Which is pretty damn fast, let me tell you. EL BOMBA!
Argento, never renowned for his coherent screenplays, plumbs new depths of trumpery with this loose and ludicrous adaptation of the classic novel. The Phantom no longer has scars or wears a mask. Instead, it's just Julian Sands looking like a creepy old hippy, sniffing shoes, babbling and stuffing rats down his leather pants for sexual gratification. As Christine, the Phantom's lover, Asia Argento lip syncs badly to opera and strips naked for her father's alarmingly lecherous camera. Meanwhile, throughout the opera house, unutterable nonsense occurs. We have a midget riding atop an oven with wheels, sucking rats up with a home-made vacuum cleaner; two camp Englishmen fussin' and fightin' in a bath-house full of saggy nudists; strange bursts of light and smoke that make people go mad and shred their hands in mousetraps; some overblown and uncharacteristically shoddy gore FX by Sergio Stivaletti (the chandelier massacre sequence is genuinely laughable); dialogue that physically hurts your ears to listen to (ie: "He only has a bout of malaria, it'll be gone in two minutes" / "I was born in the river of space and time and raised by creatures. This is the reason for my double nature."). By the time you get round to a slimy, opium-smoking Raoul slapping up whores for no discernible reason, Gaston Leroux is spinning in his grave even faster than you're reaching for the "STOP" button. Which is pretty damn fast, let me tell you. EL BOMBA!
Thursday, 26 January 2006
Fear No Evil (1981)
Dir: Frank LaLoggia
Even a bitchin' new wave soundtrack (Ramones, B-52s, Talking Heads, etc) can't save this absolute turd of a movie. The plot? Don't even try. It has lofty religious pretensions and a vague homo-erotic undercurrent but aside from the Devil being born into the body of a high schooler, there isn't an awful lot that makes sense. We do, however, learn that the Devil likes tree swings, red lipstick, kissing dogs and shrieking like a schoolgirl while being chased around a castle. As a bonus, we get death by dodgeball (seriously), an epidemic of spontaneously bleeding afros, a random Jesus cameo, a swarm of zombies (some with make-up, some who just couldn't be bothered) crashing a passion play and a Technicolor laser climax straight out of the Jacksons' "Can You Feel It?" video. Or possibly the worst Broadway musical imaginable. If anything, the ludicrous overacting and non-existent budget make this even more absurd than I've just made it sound. EL BOMBA!
Even a bitchin' new wave soundtrack (Ramones, B-52s, Talking Heads, etc) can't save this absolute turd of a movie. The plot? Don't even try. It has lofty religious pretensions and a vague homo-erotic undercurrent but aside from the Devil being born into the body of a high schooler, there isn't an awful lot that makes sense. We do, however, learn that the Devil likes tree swings, red lipstick, kissing dogs and shrieking like a schoolgirl while being chased around a castle. As a bonus, we get death by dodgeball (seriously), an epidemic of spontaneously bleeding afros, a random Jesus cameo, a swarm of zombies (some with make-up, some who just couldn't be bothered) crashing a passion play and a Technicolor laser climax straight out of the Jacksons' "Can You Feel It?" video. Or possibly the worst Broadway musical imaginable. If anything, the ludicrous overacting and non-existent budget make this even more absurd than I've just made it sound. EL BOMBA!
Tuesday, 24 January 2006
The Antichrist (1974)
Dir: Alberto Martino
Laughable Italian possession story in which Carla Gravina plays a paralysed woman who curses God and winds up possessed by Satan Himself. Satan, here, talks with a ridiculous accent and in the third person, which makes him sound like a cross between a bad James Bond villain and Jar Jar Binks. He also makes Gravina spew up copious amounts of spinach soup on the maid, her family, several priests and some weird old voodoo guy who threatens her with sausages. It's possibly even more ludicrous than it sounds though distinctly less enjoyable. Snail-paced and illogical beyond belief (especially the talky scenes, in which the priests try to convince us that it's a well-established scientific fact how sexual frustration leads to demonic possession), "The Antichrist" has very little to recommend about it. Even "the notorious goat orgy" promised on the back cover of the DVD is merely a bunch of naked hippies bouncing around in a field with a goat. Avoid. EL BOMBA!
Laughable Italian possession story in which Carla Gravina plays a paralysed woman who curses God and winds up possessed by Satan Himself. Satan, here, talks with a ridiculous accent and in the third person, which makes him sound like a cross between a bad James Bond villain and Jar Jar Binks. He also makes Gravina spew up copious amounts of spinach soup on the maid, her family, several priests and some weird old voodoo guy who threatens her with sausages. It's possibly even more ludicrous than it sounds though distinctly less enjoyable. Snail-paced and illogical beyond belief (especially the talky scenes, in which the priests try to convince us that it's a well-established scientific fact how sexual frustration leads to demonic possession), "The Antichrist" has very little to recommend about it. Even "the notorious goat orgy" promised on the back cover of the DVD is merely a bunch of naked hippies bouncing around in a field with a goat. Avoid. EL BOMBA!
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