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May

Gorotica: Coldcocked (1993)

Categories: Gorotica (1993)
Tags: horror, blood, guts, naked, review, Root, Trash, comedy, Gore, violence, sex, cinema, collective, rotten, primal, bad, school, nudity, penis, goth, gothic, rock, black, Revenge, creepy, freak, tits, boobs, breasts, dead, murder, rape, cult, dirty, killing, guns, metal, store, nasty, mean, chase, shoot, out, old, tub, hilarious, video, shower, leather, nipples, in, terrible, shot, trashy, police, 90's, VHS, weapons, robbery, sick, cops, cemetery, detective, graphic, Law, fucking, fuck, sexual, scene, hard, illegal, beating, taboo, masturbation, photos, kill, twisted, 1990's, crime, huge, vagina, kinky, independent, smoking, smoke, corpse, punk, frontal, full, unintentional, spirited, molestation, scrotum, freaky, piercing, occult, chains, whips, drunk, nipple, gorgasm, Ghetty Chasun, Gorotica, Dingo Jones, erotica, 1993, 93, necrophilia, cadaver, big, heist, bath, AIDS, HIV, positive, gasoline, Sawyer, Draculina, Hugh Gallagher, armed, weapon, panic, rat, rats, officer, hermit, shut, penetration, content, mohawk, cigarettes, cloves, pierced, fresh, break, breaking, laws, market, diamond, diamonds, swallow, ingest, idea, situation, shitty, mistake, Bushrude Gutterman, Brady Debussey, Gore Whore, direct, rare, find, robbers, shades, glasses, skull, jewel, necropheliac, dominatrix, sadomasochism

a Primal Root review

Ah, yes, after scraping the glorious dregs of the Trash Cinema dumpster and coming up with 1990′s “Gorgasm: The Ultimate Climax”, it is time we move on to Hugh Gallagher’s 1993 second installment in the much maligned, enjoyed by some, despised by other, Gore Trilogy entitled “Gorotica!” Get ready, gang, cause this one’s going to leave you feeling a little dirtier than our last flick, if you can believe it.

“Gorotica” spins the tale of two band mates, Neil (Dingo Jones) and Max (Bushrude Gutterman), who pull an armed diamond heist in order to score the funds necessary to send their band to California in the hopes of making it big! It’s a really shitty plan. Max has sold Neil on it, but being a leatherclad, crappy guitar-playing punk rock kid in your late 20′s, your whole life is more or less defined by a long string of shitty moves and really stupid decisions. So why not orchestrate a diamond heist so you can move to California for your already flaccid music career?

Speaking of The Grateful Dead…

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Before the action even gets going, “Gorotica’s” opening sequence features Carrie (Ghetty Chasun), a curvy, pierced up, well endowed goth chick, as she lays in bed watching a compilation of still shots of dead bodies at various crime scenes and masturbating. Sure, this all seems normal, that is until she pulls a skull out from under her bed and rubs it up and down against her exposed vagina. I watched this as a kid and had the distinct feeling this was actually how goth girls who never grew out of it spent their time. As I got older, I came to realize I wasn’t that far off. It’s only after Carrie has shown off her ample bongos, tried to shove a skull up her love tunnel, and knocked a totally different skull off the top of her television set with her intense, rhythmic, masturbatory gyrations & gushing climax, do our credits begin to roll!

Opening Credits by Atari

Alright, so we first meet pseudoheroes Neil and Max post robbery as they run down a dark alley, stop to catch their breath, and discuss what their next move should be. Seeing as they robbed the store in their every day attire, you know, torn jeans, plaid shirts, leather jackets and ratty haircuts, the police know just who to look for. Hell, the morons didn’t even wear fucking masks when they robbed the place! So, it stands to reason that Max would come up with the idea of swallowing the fist sized diamond they stole for safe keeping and chase with half a handle of bourbon. I don’t even want to imagine what Max’s poor sphincter will be going through when that girl’s best friend passes the threshold. The depressing concoction of blood, tears, and shit is never something I like to comprehend, let alone experience in anyway.

Thankfully, we never have to see this happen as some police officer happens down the exact same alley demanding the two young men freeze. Max pulls out a gun and he and copper exchange warm bullet welcomes, rendering both cop & kid as flat-liners. The police officer dies instantly from his gut shot while Max, on the other hand, survives but is left in critical condition which means we get the pleasure of hearing him whine and groan for the next several minutes as Neil enters a comic relief sequence where he steals a drunk old man’s car. The comic scene plays out like a when you try to fart in order to make someone laugh and then you realize it was a lot wetter than you anticipated and you’ve now shit yourself. It goes from funny to tragic in less than a second. Yeah, it’s that kind of failure.

Gotta look good for those dead bodies I’m gonna be digging up this mid-afternoon!

So, Neil heads off to the local cemetery with his newly dead band mate to lay low for a little bit, and maybe catch a few well-deserved Zzz’s. But guess who happens to be there… SURPRISE! SURPRISE! It’s Carrie! Who has come to the cemetery after an extensively gratuitous make-up sequence, which is obviously just an excuse for the filmmakers to showcase her supernaturally giant knockers, in order to gather some fresh stiffs to fuck. As luck would have it this star-crossed love triangle crosses paths and Carrie introduces herself to the hot and cold duo, Neil and Max, and the rest is history. She offers Neil a place to hide and stash Max’s body for a bit until he sorts things out. I mean, it’s mighty neighborly of Carrie but the fact that Neil isn’t immediately weirded out is a little sad to me. But, again, this guy doesn’t seem to be firing on all cylinders so I guess we can just use that as his excuse.

That a dead guy in your bucket seat or are you just happy to see me?

As soon as Carrie and Neil get to her place and they drop off Max’s body in her bathtub, Neil gets on the horn and contacts his connection, Miss Miles, who set the plan for this whole half-baked heist motion and promised cold, hard cash if they brought her the ice. Course, now that there’s a dead cop in the mix and Captain Bumblefuck is on the FBI’s shit list this ice is now “too hot”, so the situation’s changed a bit. Neil heads out on foot and runs afoul of some very angry police officers looking for his “cop killing ass”. He is held at gunpoint by one officer in civilian garb whose face spastically alters moment to moment like some kind of rodent on speed. The mustache is the icing on his ballistic cake.

This officer’s most dignified facial expression.

However, Neil gets the drop on the two cops by using his patented “Flying Rat” method! As the popo flings Neil into a pile of garbage he retaliates by grabbing some poor, bystander rat and slings the littler dumpster diver at one of the cops! Eat Temptleton, pigs!! And this… works? In terror, the cop discharges his weapon which, luckily, finds purchase right between the eyes of his fellow law enforcement pal. Neil quickly draws his weapon firing several slugs into the gutty works of rodent boy who drops to the piss soaked asphalt and fades into B-movie heaven. Good night, sweet prince! You know, for being so unlucky Neil sure is lucky…Wait a minute…

It’s hard out here for a punk.

While Neil is off getting his face bashed in and throwing rats all over the joint, Carrie is back at her abode fucking the living daylights…er, what’s left of the daylights, out of dear, departed, Max. She undresses his body in the shower and gets to work grabbing his pale arms and caressing herself with them and puppeting his fingers to pinch her nipples. If you ask me, this just seems like some really labor-intensive masturbation. I mean, really, for all the effort of moving the fucking corpse appendages and waiting for rigor mortis to settle in the damn thing’s sausage link you could be done already by just using YOUR OWN APPENDAGES to get this shit done. But, what do I know, I’ve only dabbled in necrophilia. I’m sure once it’s blossomed from experimentation to a serious, full blown addiction, your own touch just doesn’t cut it, anymore. No matter how much ice cold water you soak them in beforehand, the vag just ain’t buyin it.

Necrophilia: Not as easy as it looks.

Anyhoo, after the marathon cold-cut fuck session, Carrie decides to put that almost-cosmetology license to good use and treats Max’s corpse to mohawk makeover. All of a sudden, a bruised-up Neil busts in and is soon unnerved by his lady harborer’s glee that,”He’s starting to stiffen up! All the really good parts! *tee-HEE*” After a brief, one-sided discussion on Neil’s part explaining just how fucked his situation is and how events have “snowballed” he goes off to the crusty living room couch to crash. Carrie, on the other hand, takes the Maxcadaver to bed with her and discusses her family history with him while smoking Pall Malls, then deciding it’s time for another lengthy deep dicking of the dead. Well, damn. I guess it DOES pay to just sit and listen. Neil tries to drown out the disturbingly loud & squishy goth girl necrophiliac noises with couch cushions, firmly deciding,”When I die, I better be fucking cremated!” Because, yeah, heaven for-fucking-bid some gorgeously breasted babe makes use of your body once you’ve departed. I mean, what the hell do you care? Like you’re really doing anything better with it!

Something for the ladies! And the smokers!

The next morning Neil wakes up to find Carrie moving Max’s body out of the apartment. Ummmm… Seems she has other plans for his rotting flesh. It goes without saying, Neil has a bit of an issue with this seeing as in his buddy’s cold, punctured gut sits that gigantic rock that’s the difference between living life on the lam, soaking up some sun in Kokomo or life on the lam bunking in a nicotine stained, musty apartment with a corpse fucker. They get into a bit of a tussle in which Neil seems to have the upper hand after delivering a very slow kung-fu kick to Carrie’s mid-section sending her flipping up and over her Goodwill, filth encrusted love seat. Oh, and manages to flash us all her whole fruit basket in the process! But the tables turn as Carrie grabs a nearby fuck-skull and smashes it over Neil’s head. Before he goes unconscious Carrie forbiddingly quips,”I’m sure when you come to you’ll see things my way. You’ll have no choice! *MANIACAL LAUGH*.” Kinda makes you think he’s going to wake up trapped in a coffin being buried alive, but instead, he just wakes up in the apartment, but Carrie’s left with his pal’s body. He’s not tied up or anything, sooooo, yeah. Neil just leaves.

NEIL DOWN BEFORE CARRIE!

Where did Carrie take Max’s remains, you ask? Well, she spiked up his mohawk and took the guy over to the abode of a flamboyant fellow named Blake. You know, the kind of guy who wears puffy armed shirts and capes. He’s in the market for a dead guy to fuck because he has AIDS (!) and wants to have a partner he can ride bareback. Nice to see people play it safe, I guess. Seems he’s purchased cadavers from Carrie before, but never one this fresh. Lucky dog Blake and corpse-pushing Carrie haggle over the price a bit before agreeing on a deal and Blake gets to town riding his new, well broken in, dead fuck mate. But that’s not all! He throws in some more cash for Carrie and hands her what looks like a trash bag to wear with a holes cut into it so her tits hang out of it and then hands her a whip so she can go all Roots on him whilst he rides Max’s Hershey Highway to Hell. I’m sure this was meant to be disturbing but I cannot help but laugh at Gorotica’s grandiose attempt at being provocative and deeply disturbing. Sorry, gang, but this shit is comedic gold.

Joe Don Baker and Edward Norton share a tender moment.

Somehow, nitwit Neil is able to track Blake’s place down (…?), and with gun drawn he barges through the door and claims the body of Max in name of Asshole. What follows is an action-packed finale where Carrie busts out her Indi Jones moves and disarms Neil with a crack of her whip! Neil stabs Blake to death getting the guy’s blood all in his mouth, eyes, and up his nose in the process thereby, in all likelihood, ensuring that he’s contracted HIV/AIDS. Carrie, who can see the bright side of everything, points at the guy, explains his now very topical 90′s doomed dileama, and laughs her ass off. You gotta admit, it is pretty funny. Neil doesn’t quite see the humor in it and blows Carrie away. He FINALLY cuts Max’s stomach open and locates the hidden diamond within. Hastily giving the diamond an unnecessary tongue bath (ew), Neil heads to some seedy motel where he shaves his head into a Travis Bickle style mohawk, douses himself with gasoline and booze, and waits for Miss Miles splayed naked in bed. Miss Miles shows up, gets an eye full, comments on the strong smell of GASOLINE in the motel room and still, as Neil sits on the edge of his bed and put a cigarette to his lips, gives him a light upon request thereby sealing both their fates. Or so I assume as whatever happens after she flicks the Bic happens off camera.

And so ends, Hugh Gallagher’s bizarre, unintentionally comical, mildly boner inducing, low budget horror cult sophomore effort, “Gorotica”!

Immolating oneself is sooooo erotic! Excuse me, Gorotic. A. Gorotica.

I’ve heard the hand full of fans of this series call Gorotica a huge disappointment after Gorgasm because this follow up doesn’t feature any of the gore the title promises. Personally, I’m really okay with this because Gorotica is a far better movie, if you ask me. The acting’s better, the streamlined, MILDLY believable story doesn’t just kind of make sense, it’s actually relatively coherent! Sure, there’s not much gore in this second entry in the trilogy, but that’s a moot point when you have such goofy story that hunkers down and takes a little bit of time to tell it’s terribly trashy tale. It’s not a good movie, at all, but it feels like Gallagher has grown a little bit as a video maker. Not a whole lot, I mean, the man’s no Scorsese, but he doesn’t over reach. It’s a small scale story that can be handled on the cheap and doesn’t have an over reliance of effects the man has never been able to pay t have pulled of at all effectively.

The performances are uniformly bad, but you know what, they’re a damn sight better than the performances in “Gorgasm.” Gutterman makes an outstanding corpse, to be honest, rivaling Kim Basinger in tom Petty’s Last Dance with Mary Jane video. In my opinion, the glue that holds this thing together? Ghetty Chasun as Carrie. She may not be a great actress, but she has plenty of charisma, is always game for whatever is thrown her way in the film, doesn’t mind showing off her goods and is pretty easy on the eyes, which you can’t really say about the lead in “Gore Whore”, Gallagher’s final installment in the Gore Trilogy. It’s always fun watching Ghetty Chasun on screen, whether it’s mingling with an AIDS infected necrophiliac wearing a cape or putting out her cigarette in an ashtray balanced on a naked dead guy’s chest, I just can’t keep my eyes off of her.

Desperately Seeking Ghetty. We miss you!

What the Hell ever happened to Ms. Chasun, anyway? She did a handful of flicks in the 90′s and then just kind of vanished off the face of the earth. IMDB lists her birth date, her measurements, (36C-29-38 according to the experts) and that she’s a Capricorn. If anyone has any information as to how Ghetty’s doing or if she’d be interested in doing an interview, drop your pal The Primal Root a line, will ya?

Gorotica is a more mature and more refined offering from Gallagher (which isn’t saying much) and if you can get past the fact that there simply isn’t that much GORE in GORotica, this flick’s actually a pretty fun piece of stinky Trash Cinema. And in this Trash Cinema Connoisseur’s eyes, Gorotica is the strongest flick in the Trilogy. But, it could just be my unhealthy crush on Ms. Chasun talking…

Stay Trashy!

-Root

May

Gorgasm: The Ultimate Climax

By primalroot Leave a Comment

Categories: Gorgasm The Ultimate Climax
Tags: blood, film, comedy, Gore, movie, sex, bad, weed, nudity, Tallahassee, porn, freak, tripping, tits, boobs, breasts, Florida, murder, crazy, killing, guns, store, naughty, massacre, chase, hilarious, house, dream, nightmare, video, trip, sleazy, terrible, straight, topless, freaks, VHS, cops, detective, investigation, Cop, Gun, scene, wife, husband, grandma, kill, crime, montage, slimy, vagina, independent, marriage, b-movie, corpse, unintentional, poor, insane, pornography, adult, writer, married, fetish, bondage, masochisim, sadisim, gorgasm, Hugh, Gallagher, trilogy, Gabriela, Rik Billock, George Romero, Bill Hinzman, Illinois, poilce, bullets, combat, living room, producer, director, mechete, weed whacker, whacker, weedwhacker, strangle, strangling, Winn-Dixie, call girl, call girls, Sarge, drinking, alcoholic, psychopath, sequence, STV, video tape, video tapes, dungeon, lair, hideout

a Primal Root review

Over the course of my lifetime I’ve come to realize a man happens upon many milestones. Moments in this life that stand out above all others as life altering. Experiences that leave you stunned, silent, and with the deep realization that you are a changed man and you…will never be the same again. I had one such moment my sophomore year of high school when I trekked to Video 21 and, after an exhaustive blind search of the Cult section, I emerged to head to the check out counter with a trio of films that were about to not only solidify my adoration for all things sleazy, cheap, low budget and trashy, but would also cast my love of this most despised of genres in bronze ensuring my love would last a lifetime.

Sorry, I realize that last part sounds like an add for Precious Moments Baby Shoe Bronzing. Stick with me.

I took home a trilogy of films written, produced and directed by Hugh Gallagher that I have grown to dub “The Gore Trilogy.” It’s a series of three woefully inept, shot on video horror films that have no thematic connection besides the talent behind the camera and their creative penchant for finding new ways to use the word “Gore” in all their titles. These films are Gorgasm (1990), Gorotica (1993) and Gore Whore (1994).

In the Trial of The Primal Root vs. Misspent Youth, your honor, may we enter into evidence Exhibit A.

Let it be stated, I had no idea what exactly I was walking into with this trio of grainy, poorly made, laughably bad, sexually freakish videos, but I believe they are part of what shaped me into the demented Trash Cinema lover that I am today. Now, well over a decade later, I feel it is time to once again take a look at Hugh Gallagher’s video legacy and share the slimy, mind boggling oddities that make up “The Gore Trilogy”.

First up, Hugh’s directorial debut, the aptly named “Gorgasm: The Ultimate Climax”.

Our hero, ladies and gentlemen!

Our film begins with the rarest of horror movie standards, the opening soliloquies! Which has no real bearing on the story at hand other than introducing us to our eternally greasy, bug eyed, sports coat donning hero, Chase played by Rik Billock, who I was shocked to learn has a rather impressive filmography that includes parts in films like George Romero’s Stephen King adaptation “The Dark Half” and the late Bill Hinzman’s “Flesheater”. He shares such soul searching deep thoughts as “Religion prepares us for death. Why didn’t anyone prepare me for life?” from behind a lit cigarette, and gets so damned into his little diatribe that he nearly busts out into community theater style tears by monologue’s end. Again, this is about a five minute spoken word performance right at the beginning of the movie that has nothing to do with ANYTHING that follows. Now this is how you reel an audience in!

Okay, well, maybe the opening title card is a better was to make sure your audience stays in their seat.

Oh man! they just gave away the whole plot!

Soon enough we are introduced to homicidal call girl and power tool enthusiast, Tara, brought to ever-loving life by fully stacked actress, Gabriela, who only has three other films to her credit after her leading role in “Gorgasm” and two of them reference anal penetration in their titles. Basically, Tara is a high priced call girl who spreads her message through personal ads in scuzzy adult magazines offering “Gorgasm: The Ultimate Climax”. What service does she provide, you ask? Well, for every dime you have, Tara will come over, tie you up, spin in circles while wearing cheesy Spencer’s Gifts style lingerie. She will then reveal her gargantuan breasts for you to ogle before she brutally murders you!

In fact, our first scene in the film proper is one such business transaction as she spins about, in what looks to be my Grandmother’s kitchen circa 1985, in front of a hairy, sweaty man bound and gagged to a lovely antique dining room table. Tara kicks it up a notch as she begins blasting her cassette tape of the obscure, high energy tune, “Sex Toy”, pops her melons out of the chute and cuts off her neglige with an apparently very dull butcher knife. Her customer doesn’t seem to mind.

I feel good about myself!

He doesn’t even seem to mind when she begins slicing into his midsection with that big knife of hers, and when I say he doesn’t mind, I mean he doesn’t even flinch as the blade draws large drips of blood with each slash across the man’s chest and gratuitous beer belly. In all honesty, the captive, paying client looks almost bored at this point. Shit, he doesn’t even register a reaction when Tara eventually approaches from behind, drapes her ample rack around his bright red neck, like one of those Air Mall stress pillow deal, before hacking his jugular wide open! The fella’s head tips forward and that’s it! Gone! Scianora! Obviously, money well spent.

Detective Chase, who works in a police station that was apparently built by the wood paneling commission of Illinois, is introduced to us officially as the bottom of the barrel desk dwelling detective no one wants to actually put on a case. Seems he’s more valuable to the force as a paperwork drone. To his amazement, Sarge (played by mulleted and minimalist actress Paula Hendrix in her one and only screen credit) brings the case involving the throat slashing incident to his desk and asks him to take the lead! Chase is overjoyed until he’s informed it’s only until Detective Sanchez recovers from a cold or something. What I’m saying is that this is temporary. But this doesn’t stop chase from giving the case everything he’s got!

I’d be remiss if I didn’t make mention of the strange little subplot starring filmmaker Hugh Gallagher’s wife, Paula Gallagher, as Nicole, a woman whose boyfriend wants her to beat him up and sodomize him. She calls him a pervert, breaks up with him, and then plants her knee into his man bits giving him what he probably wanted, anyway. As he drops to the floor sobbing and nursing his jollies, she rushes out the door and back to work at the local Winn-Dixie where she seeks solace in co-worker and possible crypt keeper, Connie (Debbie Patterson). Nicole is convinced by Connie that she might just like kicking the crap out of her weasel of a boyfriend and by the time Nicole returns home she is decked out head to toe in fetish gear looking to enter her fellas fantasy kingdom.

Nicole gets a lesson in love at the local Winn-Dixie supermarket. They are the self proclaimed “Beef People”, after all.

Only she is too late! Her boyfriend has called up Tara and her Gorgasmic services which Nicole walks in on just in time to catch Tara in bed with her man and tearing meaty chunks out of his throat with an industrial weed whacker (!) Now, Nicole could have totally escaped this scenario as Tara is so caught up in her work she doesn’t even notice the near-naked, towering, leathery skinned blonde woman who just walked into the room. Sadly, Nicole trips over the weed whacker chord thereby alerting Tara to her presence. It is only after a very close call with the Tara and her weed whacker of death in the bathroom that Nicole goes for the escape only to trip over her super woman stilettos and sealing her fate. Tara gets down to the nitty gritty and starts choking a bitch. What really makes this scene work is how Tara tells Nicole how she gets paid “good money” to do this and NOT TO WORRY! “I won’t charge you for this.” This plot thread is worth mentioning because it is never brought up again. The crime scene is never discovered and no one even talks about it. Then again, you look at the police force we’re dealing with, and it’s hard to believe that this is a plot hole.

The Porn Industries’ Seedy Underbelly Welcomes You! In fact, this guy might be my favorite character in the whole movie. No lie.

Chase’s investigation takes him to the seedy underbelly of the porn industry in Hamel Illinois as the detective follows leads to understocked adult stores for lengthy montages of his shopping spree, grotesque XXX film producers who seem to have some form of Downs Syndrome intermingling with Tourettes, and even to the blood-drenched aftermath of one of Tara’s “Gorgasm” get togethers. One of the better ones, too! This is the aftermath of her most Jigsaw-esque slaying which involved a rope attached to a garage door opener and then tied around some asshole’s neck. At the scene of the crime Sarge calls this “A brilliant device.” Lady, it’s a garage door opener and a rope. Come on.

What a magnificent device! I’ve never seen anything like this! This woman’s a GENIUS!

During this murder sequence Tara opens up to her next victim and openly discusses her deceased husband who was a”beautiful” man and enjoyed being pushed to the very limits of pleasure and pain. However, it’s a one-sided conversation as her victim is gagged and cannot respond at all to Tara’s sad story of how her husband liked to be whipped repeatedly and have his balls stomped upon. The typical story of star-crossed lovers. In fact, Tara even as a creepy dummy she keeps suspended from the ceiling of her lair of sexual evils that she talks to and calls “sweetheart”. She also practices her lashing skills on the thing.

Don’t think for a second Tara doesn’t have a softer side, though. A hidden part of her personality is revealed in a sequence that comes out of left field in which Tara drives out to a sewage retention pond near a busy overpass to bask in the sun and frolic in nature amongst the rusty discarded beer cans and crunchy used condoms. She spots a rotting romance novel as she gazes over an abandoned, rotten motel, and reads a passage about tender, gentle love that moves her to pick up a red-faced, mulleted youth and fuck him in a motel room. Now that’s romance! Anyhoo, she whips out the hooters, kind of gets near him and then backs off only to break his neck and fondle his dead penis. I guess the lady knows what she likes. Highlight of this scene, and the reason I even brought it up, is when the actor playing the seduced youth hops into bed he unintentionally bashes his noggin against the head board with an audible “CRAUNCH”. He can’t play it off, let’s out an anguished “ARRGGHH!” before rubbing his head in pain, and then settling down for the loving he’s sure is coming right around the corner. I’m sure this guy just reeks of Miller High Life and Slim Jims.

I don’t feel “brain damage” is much of a concern in this guy’s case.

Just as Chase is making some headway on the “Gorgasm” case he is pulled off of it as Sanchez has fully recovered from his slight cough and Chase swears he will make them all pay! Yeah, the only people who will be paying is the audience who must endure a slow motion dream sequence of his in which he wears a super tiny black pair of underoos and seduces a handcuffed Tara in his living room before slugging her in the face. Out of all the visuals in “Gorgasm” the only one that haunts me is seeing Chase nearly nude and trying to be sexy while coated in a thing layer of perspiration and nicotine, his thinning blonde hair in greasy disarray and his bugged-out eyes starring into my soul. I’ve seen countless horror films and, to my dismay, this is the image that’s haunted my nightmares for over a decade.

Enough about me, Chase decides to take matters into his own hands, contacts Tara through a personal add, and sets up a “combat” date where only one will leave alive. Of course Tara is totally down with this, but how they both know the dress code of this engagement without ever discussing it has me wondering if this movie has a very subtle supernatural underpinning to it. How else do you explain Chase wearing a camouflaged shirt & slacks combo and Tara showing up in a fetching matched camou bikini? Really, what better way to blend in with a middle class suburban living room? Maybe they both just have similar fashion sense? Either way, I guess it illustrates just how similar these two characters are. Or something…?

Tara and Chase: A lot alike? I see two BIG differences right off the bat.

They lock eyes, Chase draws his gun, Tara draws her machete, and the combat is on! Immediately Tara loses her top so she has to spend the rest of the chase bouncing her large breasts all over the screen as she runs from the equally floppy Detective Chase. Tara runs for the garage to hide which leads to one of the funniest moments of the entire film. Chase, gun in hand, slowly walks into the garage, hand first, now knowing Tara is hiding right next to the door on the opposite side with her trusty machete raised high above her head. In a split second Chase loses both his weapon and hand to the evil call girl! He soon passes out as his nemesis stares him down, no doubt figuring out her next move…In the end, it takes both characters to a fate neither one could have seen coming. Although the audience probably did. Let’s just say there are some mind blowing reveals and guns going off in the place you’d ever want them to go off.

Shock? Pain? Or does he smell Alpo?

Let’s just say, by the end of “Gorgasm” there are no clear winners. Hell, there’s really no clear nice guy or bad guy! Everyone is up to no good. I suppose, in some strange way, Tara is not really the villain of the piece. She’s kind of an anti-hero, I mean, sure she kills people in hilariously gruesome ways but it’s what her clients want! I mean, she’s running a business, yes? Someone wants their head ripped off by a spinning topless woman? So be it, I say! The customer is always right.

Can’t say she didn’t get a little head during her killing spree. HA! Be sure to tip your waitress…

“Gorgasm” is a fucking TERRIBLE movie. There is nothing good about it. From the “acting” to the cinematography, writing, and gore effects absolutely nothing in this film works! I mean, there’s a veritable all-you-can-eat buffet of Gabriela’s tits on display but those breasts are probably the only thing of any quality note. Still, as I’m sure you all know, quality does not always determine watchability! Despite its near infinite flaws, “Gorgasm” still manages to be hysterical, exploitative, cheesy, and pretty damn entertaining. It’s a slice of the trash cinema pie that’s more of an acquired taste than most. Those who can enjoy films such as Troll 2 and Samurai Cop would probably be the core audience for this kind of flick.

Tastes like lime!

“Gorgasm”, the first entry in Hugh Gallagher’s Gore Trilogy, is probably the weakest entry but still manages to deliver on the lame-o unintentional hilarity and the sleazeball tits and gore. Not even a cult film, more of a forgotten, never was sort of nada flick, “Gorgasm” is one for the hardcore fans of all things Trash. Be warned, this flick is not for the faint of heart. It’s almost unfathomably bad, but for a certain group of us, it’s the most wonderfully perfect kind of bad imaginable.

Soon to come, The Primal Root’s review of the Second Entry in Hugh Gallagher’s Gore Trilogy, “Gorotica”!

Stay Trashy!

-Root

Feb

Hobo with a Shotgun: Make Your Own Change

By primalroot Leave a Comment

Categories: Hobo with a Shotgun
Tags: 11, 2011, action vigilante, arcade, bear, bears, blood, Brian Downey, bumper cars, Canada, children, class, cocaine, comedy, decapitation, explicit, exploitation, genital, genitals, Gore, graphic, grindhouse, Gun, guns, guts, gutter, hacksaw, Hell, Hobo, Hobo with a Shotgun, hooker, hookers, horror, ice skates, Jason Eisener, justice, lawnmower, manhole, mean, molester, Molly Dunsworth, murder, mutilation, nasty, Nova Scotia, over the top, pedophile, prostitute, rape, reign, rule, Rutger Hauer, santa, satire, Shotgun, spirited, The Plague, torture, tramp, Troma, vagrant, vengeance, violence, war, warfare

a Primal Root review

I found out moments before I watched this film that it originated as a grand prize winner in a mock trailer contest as part of a publicity stunt for the Tarantino/Rodriguez helmed double feature “Grindhouse”. What was the prize? The folks who made the trailer got to turn that trailer into a feature length film. Now, let me tell you, the feature length version of “Hobo With a Shotgun” isn’t going to appeal to the wide breadth of film goers out there. Hell, I have close friends who love Trash Cinema who thought this flick sucked sweaty goat balls. I, for one, thought it was one of the craziest, blow it out a shotgun, fuck it message films I’ve seen in a long, long, time.

“Hobo with a Shotgun” tells the story of an earnest, older transient Hobo (played with gravity by the ever awesome and always game Rutger Hauer) who goes from town to town looking for a break and a means to begin living his humble dream of making a decent living as a landscaper. But, as we all know, in the real world this can be tougher than it seems. Especially when you’ve been reduced to sleeping on sidewalks, trying to come up with clever card board signs asking for donations and having the chew broken glass for the folks who film shit like “Bum Fights” for a measly couple of bucks. When you are that far down, it’s near impossible to get back up without some kind of helping hand.

If only he had written something witty and clever as opposed to honest...

Sadly, our Hobo has managed to ride the rails into Dartmouth Nova Scotia which looks to be the ninth circle of Hell as it is ruled under the blood thirsty fist of a tiny, greasy, sociopath by the name of Drake (Brian Downey) and his two equally psychotic, well groomed sons Slick (Gregory Smith) and Ivan (Nick Bateman). This Father and Son triple threat of bloodthirsty scumbaggery have turn this city into a gut crunching, head obliterating, meaty chunk strewn wasteland where no one bats an eye if someone has their skull crushed between two bumper cars or a school bus full of children gets burned alive…as long as it’s not them. In this reality, whoever visits the most brutal death to the citizenry and generates the most fear is king. This is hardly the town to look for a decent person with a dream to find that helping hand.

Our Hobo befriends Abby, the hooker with a heart of gold (played by the talented and gorgeous Molly Dunsworth) who shows him warmth and kindness and becomes a bit of a daughter to our hero. But once Hobo witnesses atrocity upon atrocity and is brutalized himself, he trades in his landscaping dreams for a loaded shotgun and decides to level the playing field as only a vigilante with nothing left to lose can do. As the bodies of murderous, drug dealing, rapists cock suckers rise Drake and his sons are left with no choice but to retaliate as a full fledged war is declared between the haves and the have nots…and no one is spared.

To be honest, it took me about ten minutes to really warm up to “Hobo with a Shotgun”. It;s early sequences felt like some kind of second rate Troma flick…but as the violent set pieces of the opening came to a close and the film began to focus more on the story of Rutger’s Hobo and his rise to become a homeless moral avenger, it rose way above the the trappings of your typical no-buget grue fest. This flick has a surprising amount of heart, stays true to it’s characters, and delivers on all fronts.

Hobo with a Shotgun is an interesting animal. On one hand the filmmakers seem to be inviting you to laugh at the brutal carnage going on throughout the film. When a character has his head ripped off and a scantly clad woman writhes in the geyser of fresh blood spraying forth from a gaping hole where the victim’s head should be you can’t help but laugh at how ludicrous it all is. But several scenes later, a character we’ve grown to know and care about is suddenly in mortal danger of being killed off and we suddenly can’t bring ourselves to laugh…we realize this is a world without ruled. A place where the filmmakers are willing to do anything and kill off anyone at any moment. In Hobo with a Shotgun, the typical cinematic tropes need not apply. Just like the world we live in, it’s so easy to laugh at a crazy headline or crack a joke regarding someone’s misfortune, but when it suddenly that same fate shines on us or someone we love, it ceases to amuse.

And in this I feel Hobo with a Shotgun finds it’s message. It’s not just a film that focuses on the violence, and there are copious amounts of it to be sure, but it also manages to drive home the idea of desensitization, apathy, detachment and how detrimental it is to us as a society. For us to stand by as other well meaning and good people are crushed under the heal of our oppressors, being too afraid to stand up for fear of the same harm being inflicted upon us, doesn’t that mean evil has already won out?

One of “Hobo with a Shotgun” ‘s strongest scenes comes when Hobo enters the maternity ward of a hospital and there before him, separated by a pane of glass, are a dozen new born babies. fresh from Momma’s loins. These little souls are pure, innocent and precious. But for how long? And aged, craggy faced and beaten down man with nothing but the close on his back and a blazing hot, fully loaded shotgun looks in upon them and their advocate, as the spokesperson for their future. You were born into and are inheriting this world of pain and suffering. This one Hobo finally hit rock bottom, grew tired of seeing his world repeatedly;y raped and violated around him and chose to stand up. Come life or death, this man chose to make that stand to change things. What kind of world will these babies grow up in? That’s entirely up to us.

Hobo with a Shotgun, it’s one very bloody,extremely brutal film. One which takes no prisoners, makes no apologies and leaves you feeling like you just took a trip through some kind of cinematic Hell on earth. A weird alternate movie universe tucked somewhere in the scummy, unwashed regions of Trash Cinema that stinks of canned tamales and makes your fingers stick together. Hobo with a Shotgun sure as shit isn’t for everyone, but for those of us in it’s sights, Hobo with a Shotgun is a blast you won’t soon forget.

And, though I think they’re fucking awesome, I have no idea what The Plague is all about. But I do want their arcade game…

Stay Trashy!

-Root

Jan

The Devil Inside: The Devil’s in the Dullness

By primalroot 1 Comment

Categories: The Devil Inside
Tags: 12, 2012, baptisim, blood, boring, church, clergy, contortion, daughter, debate, demon, demons, dull, Evan Helmuth, evil, exorcisim, exorcist, Fernanda Andrade, film, filmmaker, filmmaking, footage, found, Gun, guns, horror, Inside, Italy, Maria Rossi, Mother, movie, murder, nephew, nun, nuns, possessed, possession, priest, priests, Satan, satanic, Simon Quarterman, suicide, Uncle, vagina

a Primal Root written review

Man, The Blair Witch Project feels like it was ages ago…Well, here we are with another quickie cash in on the current super cheap “found footage” trend. This time instead of a ghost, alien or witch we’re dealing with the ever freaky prospect of exorcisms. A found footage concept that’s been done before recently and a bit better in 2010′s “The Last Exorcism”. Hey, at least that film managed to be even remotely entertaining for more than 5 minutes of it’s run time…

The Devil Inside is the story of a young woman looking to close a chapter in her life that’s plagued her since she was a child. Her mother’s condition which led her to slay three clergy members during her own exorcism. Mom was shipped off to Italy in order undergo treatment for her mental illness but her daughter Isabella isn’t so quick to rule out demonic possession. This is the mock-doc of Isabella’s trip to Italy to visit her mother where she encounters real life exorcists who take her out on dates to watch them work their brand of incompetence on young ladies who can pop ‘n’ lock like none other! This is the true story of when demons stop being polite and start getting real…

"True Sto-RAAAAY!" obscure?

Long gone are the days of the possessed spewing bile into preachers faces, no, nowadays they are more likely to spray you copious amounts of vagina blood like fruit punch squeezed forth from the little straw pocking out of the top of a Hi-C juice box. And that kind of shit is fun to watch. It’s freaky, it’s unnatural, and it is pretty gross (unless you’re into that sort of thing, in which case, this flick might get ya hot under the collar.) and it works. The strongest element of this film are these scenes of demonic possession and the battle to rid these folks of their hellish ailments. And these scenes are pretty captivating, the strongest of which, involves a priest performing a baptism on an infant.

The sad fact is, none of these scenes really mean much, because the filmmakers forgot the create interesting characters the audience could empathize with. Fernanda Andrade as Isabella seems completely void of emotion for the duration of the picture. During these intense, violent and over the top exorcism sequences (one of which involves her own mother) the camera every so often pans to Isabella for a reaction shot. And as the blood spews forth from splayed vaginas and priests that are as physically imposing as a five year old get tossed across rooms and into walls, Isabella’s typical reaction is utter boredom. This reaction pretty much sums up my reaction to the other 97% of The Devil Inside.

Dramatic recreation of the look on my face when "The Devil Inside" ended.

And in so lies the films ultimate weakness: dullness. There’s just nothing happening foe the majority of the film. We get some priests debating the whether exorcism is real or just mental illness (guess which debate wins out in the end!), people bickering, and montages of Isabella walking around Italy looking bored and uninterested. Now, I can;t be sure where the fault should really lie for such a boring film. I mean, this is supposed to be a documentary film gone wrong, correct? Depressingly enough, the guy behind the camera never comes off as a competent filmmaker to begin with. So do we blame the fictional documentary filmmaker? IS he supposed to suck at his profession? Or is it the actual filmmakers themselves who can’t put together a thoughtful, exciting, engaging film on the subject of mental illness, family ties, faith and possession? Why waste such a potentially good story on the same tired formula that Paranormal Activity has exploited for three movies?

Because people eat this shit up for some reason. 1. Have nothing interesting happen for 45 minutes of screen time. 2. Insert a loud dog barked 3. Watch everyone jump and scream in shock as your film takes the bold step of having something actually happen4. Profit. This is fucking LAZY film making, people. This is the kind of thing that gives the horror genre such a bad name. And this is the kind of vacuous, meaningless, fast food offerings the mainstream horror audience is fed and they slurp up as if it’s filet mignon. Mainstreamers, you have steadily acquired a taste for Grade-A dookie. Yes, you are being served heaping spoonfuls of shit. There’s nothing interesting here. Nothing thoughtful or truly horrifying nor is there anything campy or fun about The Devil Inside. It simply exists with just about nothing to offer.

Despite some relatively strong performances from supporting players Simon Quarterman and Evan Helmuth as two young renegade exorcists who aid Isabella in her quest and Suzan Crowley as Isabella’s Mother, Maria Rossi, who pretty much steals the show with every scene in which she appears. She, alone, nearly makes the film worth it. If only we had more time with her. The film also kicks it into high gear towards the end of it’s running time where it even hints at becoming interesting. Really. the final ten or fifteen minutes promise of some great rewards only for the movie to pull the rug out from under us and leave us with nothing but frustration and 90 minutes of out lives wasted.

I’m sure they are saving all that for the sequel, which is at this point certain, after this honking log of shit somehow managed to ingest 36 million dollars of hard earned dollars from the accounts of countless movie goers this past weekend despite terrible notices and an ad campaign that looked more like a warning. I guess it proves my old theory that pure evil always works when it’s far more subtle. Why drive the audience completely fucking insane with something truly horrific and mind altering when you can simply bore them to the point of crying in uncontrollable sobs of pain and suffering for 10 bucks a head?

That, my friends, is the true face of The Devil…

Stay Trashy!

-Root

Sep

Creature: Of Alligators and Incest

By primalroot Leave a Comment

Categories: Creature 2011
Tags: abduction, alligator, Amanda Fuller, ass, b-movie, babies, baby, backwoods, beer, blood, boobs, brother, brothers, bush, camping, creature, cult, Dillon Casey, drinks, Drive-In, dumb, Eggs, Florida, Fred Andrews, full frontal nudity, funny, gas station, gator, giant, girl on girl, goofy, Gore, gratuitous, guns, guts, handjobs, hicks, hilarious, huge, hysterical, incest, Jennifer Lynn Warren, Joe Bob Briggs, killer, Lauren Schneider, Lockjaw, Louisiana, Mehcad Brooks, mistakes, Monster, murder, mutant, mutilation, naked, nasty, nude, outdoors, primal, procreation, rape, rednecks, Root, Serinda Swan, sex, Sid Haig, sink holes, sister, sisters, skinny dipping, slime, spiders, Tallahassee, Three B's. 3 b's, threesome, tits, topless, tourist, tourists, trap, True Blood, underground, unintentionally, wine

a Primal Root written review

Those who know me also know Drive-In Critic Joe Bob Briggs is pretty much my icon. My hero. The man I look up to as my role model. And those who know Joe Bob Briggs are well aware that he’s broken down the formula that makes a B-Movie worth out time. The elements are the fabled, legendary, Three B’s. That is: Blood, Breasts and Beasts. My entire life this has proven to be the key to my enjoyment of a bad movie. As long as those three ingredients are there I’m not bored.

And then I saw the recent film, “Creature”. A southern fried monster tale about a mean tempered, horny, century old alligator man who rules over a stinky, tobacco stained Louisiana swamp land looking for a place his slimy gator seed can take purchase. Lucky for him, three supernaturally idiotic marines, two of whom bring along their girlfriends and one who brings along his in heat, hooter flashing sister, have decided to head out into the swamp in search of a death trap, excuse me, I mean…tourist trap.

Who will survive and who gives a shit?

The six attractive younguns stop by a local gas station called Captain Spaulding’s Museum of Monsters and…oh shit, no, wait, it’s just called Chopper’s and is run by…Chopper played by Sid Haig. His little gas station/general store also happens to be a bit of a museum honoring the local legend…Lockjaw, the malevolent Alligator man who lives in the swamps. Anyway, Chopper tells them a little bit of the legend, gives them directions (any of this sound familiar?) and the kids head off to go die after flashing their tits and drinking some wine.

It’s a familiar set up and the whole film feels like a brain damaged cross breeding of Rob Zombie’s House of 1,000 Corpses and Adam Green’s Hatchet. I know both of those films have achieved cult status ( The former of which I can understand. The latter? Not so much…) and I am sure this horror abomination will fit snugly amongst that cannon as an interesting side note to that strange slasher fan boy genre birthed early this century.

Might as well kiss that ass goodbye...

It’s that backwoods hillbilly genre that really took off during the naughties with independent horror. From Wrong Turns, to Devil’s Rejects to Texas Chainsaw Massacre reboots, everyone was digging on uneducated, blood thirsty, backwoods, gut munchers. Hell, that resurgence took hold even before that whole Saw franchise flooded the market with torture horror. However, this trashy flick, “Creature”, pulls one aspect of these films that’s typically only touvhed upon and forces it out there into the spotlight for the audience to take a long, creeped out look at. And that element is the wonderful world of incest.

Yes, incest. I know the old southern saying, “The closer the kin, the deeper in” but this flick takes that sentiment to whole different level. Remember when I told you one of the marines brought his red headed, libido of a rabbit, sister along? Well, when her attempts at date raping one of her brother’s friend’s girlfriends doesn’t work out she finds her brother…and gives him a sloppy handjob in the middle of the swamp and then complains that he now can’t fuck her with his wet noodle. It’s awkward, to say the least and luckily Sid Haig rushes onto the scene and punches her square in the nose before things can escalate. Being an only child, I’m not sure if this is how regular brother and sisters, umm, handle one another. They never really touched on this sort of thing on Family Matters or Step by Step.

Anyway, the incestuous sister’s got a date with that wild man bachelor known as Lockjaw!

Lockjaw finds the scent of Herbal Essence hard to resist.

Yes, the eternally wet, red head, incestuous sister is pulling a double header tonight and is now bound, gagged, and ordered to fuck a giant gator man. So, bestiality is now entering the equation in “Creature. But, see, she can only bump uglies with Lockjaw once her feet are hacked off. …the Hell? If someone could explain to me why in the word that is necessary I would greatly appreciate it. I don’t know why in the world they felt the need to make the plot of this thing so damn convoluted and jam as many rules and oddly out of place plot twists as they could when none of it really goes anywhere.

It’s such a basic story. You have a Gator Man looking for love. A pack of attractive twenty-somethings, three of which possess the proper genitals, wonder into his home turf. The movie practically writes itself and would have been a riot if they had kept it simple, fast paced and FUN! Whoever wrote this thing just bogs the movie down with weird side tracks and sub plots and meaningless stretches of dialog that aren’t funny, don’t mean anything within the context of the movie and advance nothing. It’s as if they were struggling to make this thing feature length and just didn’t know what to do. The movie’s run time is 93 minutes but it feels like it goes on for over two hours as scenes drag into nothing over and over again with neither a payoff or anything that enhances the story.

Daphne and Velma share a tender moment on their latest kooky caper!

HOWEVER! The film does feature a ton of nudity! Three gratuitously displayed pairs of lovely lady breasts and even some in your face full frontal female flesh(Breasts, Buns AND BUSH! Booger would be pleased.) for the audience to ogle in the very opening of the film. This poor, totally naked woman has no lines, is completely nude and is killed and out of the movie in about 5 minutes time. I guess it’s a bad idea to go skinny dipping in a gator/rapey flesh eating Hell beast infested swamp. I am looking forward to her next project because in these 5 minutes Jennifer Lynn Warren won my heart and is one of the most memorable elements of the movie. Being naked as a jay bird certainly didn’t hurt…

The gore is a little lacking. I was expecting a bit more in a film about Lockjaw the Gator Boy who leaves a little to be desired as well. The creature effects are great and all but I couldn’t help but notice how the monster looks almost identical to the Koopa’s from the live action Super Mario Brothers movie. Yet, the fellow inside this creature suit does a great job bringing it to life and making the most of it. He possess, stalks and attacks like a pro. Sadly, we are never treated to a Lockjaw sex scene. SEE! Now that would have been entertaining! And we do get undeniable proof that such a scenario did occur at some point in the movie, but for whatever reason, we aren’t treated to that moment of pure animal-man on woman horror. Eh, maybe in the direct to video sequel starring Bill Moseley? Only time will tell.

"I Shouldn't Be Alive" New Season Begins This Fall

And they never did explain the regenerative properties of the swamp itself that a man could get shot square in the knee with a rifle then run on that leg for the next thirty minutes of the movie and not even limp. Well, maybe it’s just because he’s a marine? Either way, this might be my favorite unintentionally funny aspect of the film. How much the lead character gets shot, stabbed, and repeatedly crushed and beaten mercilessly by Lockjaw. Including one excruciatingly long slow motion sequence towards the end of the film where Lockjaw repeatedly pounds full force on the character’s sternum and ribs, and then, seconds after the attack, the character can simply get up and walk it off. I always thoroughly enjoy that sort of stupid shit in trashy films. There’s also a pretty hysterical spider attack sequence where a guy gets pounced by tarantulas and then treats the bites with…bottled water?

I just wish there had been more of that fun, dumb, stuff to tide me over in between scenes of nonsensical redneck banter, jewelry gifting, potato chip scavenging, and boyfriends getting upset because his girlfriend is getting naked in a tent and making out with another sexy woman looking to get a threesome going. Who ARE these people?

“Creature” has a whole lot of promise and I was eager to take the trip it so obviously wanted to deliver. But somewhere along the way it seems the whole thing got lost, forgot where it left it’s fun, Drive-In, B-Movie spirit and left us imagining all the awesomeness that could have been. “Creature’s” heart is in the right place and the filmmakers obviously have an affection for Trash Cinema. I mean, it was director Fred Andrews first time at bat, so I will cut him some slack. I just hope that the next film he delivers is a bit more streamlined and heavier on the sick, demented fun.

As Joe Bob might say, there’s just too much dang plot getting in the way of the story!

Stay Trashy!

-Root

And, yes, that’s Eggs from the second season of True Blood.

Jul

‘(It’s a) Complex World’: God told us to laugh at you.

By primalroot Leave a Comment

a Primal Root review

In a world where rock music, rampant drug use and promiscuous sex is destroying the moral fiber of today’s youth there can be only one solution. Stick some plastic explosives in a keg and blow up a filthy club filled with degenerates! Of course, this is the world of 1992 and the hot bed for this moral degradation is The Heartbreak Hotel in Providence which happens to be owned by the son of a political talking head who is running for the office of the President of the United States of America. Can you say, “conspiracy?”

Well, in this case you would be right. From the very beginning ‘Complex World’ makes it’s intentions clear and let’s you in on what’s happening much like the suspenseful dynamite in the trunk opening of Orson Wells’ classic, ‘Touch of Evil’. Only here, the outcome isn’t made clear till the very end when exhaustive collection of characters and plot lines all come together and lead to a stand-off that will either blow your mind or haunt your nightmares. A political killing is underway as the communist hating, paranoid, presidential nominee has send out an elite terrorist hit squad to wipe The Heartbreak Hotel and all it’s inhabitants off the face of the earth, but first, they try to get a little ransom money out of the club’s manager and presidential nominees son, Jeff. That is, if they can get him to give a shit or fear death…

‘Complex World’ takes place over the course of one night at The Heartbreak Hotel over the back drop of a double billed concert. Folk-singer/terrorist, Morris Brock, who revels in creating the most negative, violence inducing songs possible (‘Why Do We Feed the Broads?’, ‘New Jersey’), is opening up for an experimental metal band called The Young Adults who sing the ridiculously uncatchy title track, ‘Complex World’ as well as a love song about a man and a bush entitled ‘I married a Tree’, a hopeful endorsement of committing suicide when your life is at it’s worst simply called, ‘Kill Yourself’, and my personal favorite, ‘Christmas in Japan in July.’

What I describe to you here is really the bare minimum of the plot. To describe anymore would not only spoil a lot of the fun and magic that is ‘Complex World’, but I doubt me telling you about it would really do the film justice. Take my word for it, the film is a twisted, hilarious trip back to the early days of the 90′s that perfectly captures the strange shift in attitude and music that would come to define the early-mid part of the decade. It’s a movie that also takes a good hard look at the political industrial complex with intense disdain, then shrugs it’s shoulders and walks away from all it’s bullshit. Ultimately saying, if you don’t give into their brand of control and bullying, that only then will we ever truly be free.

‘Complex World’ is well worth tracking down and giving it a go. We happen to have a copy on VHS at Video 21 in Tallahassee if you ever happen to be in the area for an extended stay. I highly recommend you check this one out.

Stay Trashy,

-The Primal Root

Here’s a clip from ‘Complex World’ featuring Morris Brock performing ‘New Jersey.’

Mar

Drive Angry, That Old Drive-In Spirit

By primalroot Leave a Comment

Categories: Root's Written Reviews
Tags: 3-D, 3D, Accountant, amber, Amber Heard, Angry, anti-Oscar, baby, badass, battle, beer, Bill Murray, Billy Burke, biting, boobs, Brimstone, Cage, Cap, car, chase, cinema, collective, cops, Corman, cult, Damned, dark comedy, deadly, death, devil, drive, Drive Angry, Drive-In, evil, exploitation, explosions, fire, Florida, fucking, fun, guilty, guns, head shot, Heard, Hell, hilarious, infant, Jason X, killer, My Bloody Valentine, naked, Nekkid, Nic, Nicholas, Nights, nude, nudity, over the top. comedy, Patrick Lussier, penis, pleasure, primal, prison, Punxsutawnet Phil, resurrection, road trip, Root, sacrifice, Satan, sex, Shoot 'em up, showdown, supernatural, Tallahassee, tits, Todd Farmer, Tom Atkins, Trash, Twilight, twisted, vengeance, William Fichtner

a Primal Root Written Review

“I could shoot you in the throat and watch you gurgle as I eat my morning grapefruit.” – Jonah King, Drive Angry

I was only recently even made aware of this theatrically released cheese-ball action flick after someone sent me the red band trailer. I saw cars, explosions, fights, tits, guns and Nicolas Cage, a man whose acting prowess I have come to dislike so much and whose choices of acting roles perplex me so that he has become a bit of a cult icon to me. And all of these elements were rolled in to bizarre concoction entitled Drive Angry. And this sucker was going to be in 3D. I was sold.

As I looked intot he film more I realized this flick is a collaboration between the same writer and director who brought us the tons of fun 3D schlock fest, My Blood Valentine 3D, Todd Farmer and Patrick Lussier. Sure, Todd Farmer also wrote Jason X which sucks cocks in Hell and, let’s face it, My Bloody Valentine isn’t much more than the sum of it’s assemblage of cool gore effects…

But Drive Angry promises something totally different. It’s not a remake or a sequel to a well established horror franchise. This is something else entirely. It’s an original film that works as hellishly fun tip of the hat the the very best of cheap-o 42nd street cinema and late 80′s action extravaganzas. It’s like a Frankenstein monster assembled from still very entertaining and classic parts from favorite cult hits from years gone by. There’s badass fight scenes.greasy spoon diners populated by gross, touchy feely chefs and foul mouthed flirty waitresses. Hardcore Hotrods. Blood drenched shoot outs. A tough as nails chick who knows how to fight like a tigress. A quiet stranger dressed in black that everyone wants dead. Tons of nudity and a fucking brilliant sex shoot out scene that plays like the similar scene from 07;s Shoot ‘Em Up on Jolt Cola. And even a satanic cult led by a molesty, necrophiliac, baby killing, scumbag sans penis played by Bella’s Dad from the Twilight series.

Someone did not put the bunny back in the box.

Our film is the story of a vengeance seeking father by the name of Milton ( Nic Cage) who has escaped from Hell to avenge the murder of her daughter and save his grand child from the satanic cult who killed her lead by the villainous Jonah King (Billy Burke). He gains the help of a young woman named Piper (Amber Heard) who is a force to reckoned with as illustrated after she finds her fiance fucking a skank in their stink hole apartment. The duo head south to Louisiana where the final showdown awaits, all the while, having to duck the authorities lead by Cap (Tom Atkins, a true Trash Cinema Legend in top form here.) as well as a smooth talking, sharply dressed supernatural force known as The Accountant (played by a scene stealing William Fichtner) who might be one of the coolest anti-heroes in recent memory.

The Accountant: Redefining awesome on a scene by scene basis.

Drive Angry has it all and, man, it’s just so goddamn tasty. It’s jam packed with that old Drive-In spirit fueled by excess and meaning to do nothing more than deliver the goods and entertain it’s audience at any cost. There is something to be admired in a film that enjoys delivering the filthy, blood smeared goods without making fun of itself or those of us who love this type of flick with every faint beat of or twisted black little hearts. And after all the thought provoking and well made films of the Award season releases, I have to admit, it’s a load of fun to simply switch the old gray matter on cruise control and take a trip with a guilty pleasure to most like Drive Angry.

As a matter of fact, yes, she knows how to use them.

Trust me, if you enjoy the kind of films that were once readily available as double and triple bills decades earlier when you could enjoy cinema under the stars, this film is something you will eat up like so much buttery, salty concession stand popcorn. Not since Piranha 3D and Machete have I had this kind of fun at the movies.

And yes, the film does give a Special Thanks to Bill Murray and Punxsutawney Phil in the end credits.

I would gladly come back fom Hell for Ms. Amber Heard.

Stay Trashy,

-The Primal Root

Feb

My Soul to Take…eh, you can keep it.

By primalroot Leave a Comment

Categories: Root's Written Reviews
Tags: 3-D, adoption, bitch, blades, blind, blind kids climbing in second floor windows, bloody, blow-jobs, bug, california condor, cell-phones, christian, christians, cinema, collective, costumes, craven, dumb, evil, film, Florida, geek, Gore, greasy, guns, gut, handicapped, head shot, high school, horror, Jesus, jock, Kevin Cole, kill, killing, mass, master of horror, mental illness, minorities, movie, murder, my soul to take, nerd, nightmare on elm street, pool, poop, possession, Pregnant, primal, religion, review, ridiculous, Root, scary, scream, shocker, siblings, sick puppies, slahser, slasher, slut, spree, stab, Tallahassee, teenagers, teens, Trash, unattractive, useless, vomit, wes, written

A film as inspired as it's poster art...

a Primal Root written review
Man, oh, man, do I remember a time when Wes Craven was the man. When he was the sick hippie sadist who brought us flicks like the brutal rape/revenge classic Last House on the Left and the road-trip mutant fiasco film, The Hills Have Eyes. He created (althoughRobert Englund deserves just as much credit) the most iconic and important boogieman of the last 30 years in hideously scarred, murderous, dreamstalker, Freddy Krueger… He even brought the slasher film back for a post-modern rebirth with the Kevin Williamson-penned Scream franchise. But then something went horribly wrong. Scream 3 sucked. As did his werewolf flick, Cursed…Red Eye was really his last decent film before he went into producer mode and got on board the remake wagon to oversee the re-imaginings of some of his beloved earlier works with varying degrees of success…
And then, in 2010, Wes Craven came back with a new and original horror film in 2010! One that would prove once again why he is considered a Master of Horror! A supernatural horror film about schizophrenia, possession, soul collecting, California Condors, superstition, urban legend, prayer, pregnancy, blow jobs and two male leads who have terrible hair look like they smell even worse. Oh yes, here comes My Soul to Take…IN 3D!!!
As a horror fan I try to defend Wes to the best of my ability. The guy has seriously made some fantastic films, many of which he penned himself. He’s created memorable, timeless horror classics that are still viewed, still entertaining and still discussed today. He once upon a time proved that truly memorable horror didn’t just go after your guts, but after your mind as well. Sure, you can gross people out but if you really want your audience to be thinking about your movie when they go to bed the best place to attack is upstairs where their deepest, darkest fears live.
My Soul to Take was the last straw.
Our film begins with a grizzly killing spree in which a husband and father has the revelation that he is “The Ripper”, a serial killer that’s been going around town gutting folks with his super cool knife he must have ordered from swordsofmight.com. See, this fellow didn’t realize he was “The Ripper” because he’s schizophrenic…*sigh*. He calls his shrink but it’s already too late because he’s already slashed up and killed his pregnant wife. When the police arrive he has stabbed himself multiple time and is about to hack up his tiny daughter when the cops blow him away. But not very well. Because this asshole wakes up for approximately a dozen goddamn jump scares that are far more hilarious than they are shocking. The film’s prologue ends with an ambulance explosion, about five more dead bodies and three critically injured…and the killer somehow crawls off the gurney and is never heard from again…
SIXTEEN YEARS LATER!

Turns out on the night The Ripper was killed SEVEN children were born. That’s right, seven kids in this small community were born on the night The Ripper died. And on their collective birthday these kids go down to the river and perform some kind of passion play where they invoke The Ripper’s spirit and then knock over a puppet…I dunno. The cops show up just as all our stock characters are listed off. Several of them gather behind a fallen log o spend what feels like 20 fucking minutes discussing the myths and urban legend surrounding The Ripper. See, we already know everything that happened. We just saw it at the very beginning of the film. So to hear all these stories surrounding The Ripper is mind numbingly tedious.

What't the blind character looking at over there?

We’ve all seen Wes Craven’s magnum opus, A Nightmare on Elm Street. Remember how well Freddy’s back story was handled? It was always kept in the shadows. It was whispered about and the audience learned along with our hero Nancy just who her nemesis was. This added to our interest as an audience and gave the whole film a veil of mystery and suspense. When you show your audience from the outset what the back story of your villain is there’s not much left to reveal. But, then again, we still haven’t gotten to the California Condor/ Soul Collector shit yet…
Once My Soul to Take’s opening gore soaked hilarity comes to an end and our 7 possibly evil teens are introduced the pacing slows down to a snail’s pace. After one teen is dispatched in a relatively well handled murder sequence the film, once again, takes detour into Expositionville, where it spends the majority of its running time. We get a little taste of all 6 (sorry, one dies early on) of these kids’ lives but none of them are developed. Even our lead red herring, Bug, is never clearly defined. We know he makes really cool puppets and costumes, speaks in creepy voices, likes the blonde girl but is only liked by the red headed uber-christian…I dunno, he’s the lead and I can’t tell you anything more about him than this without revealing any of the twists you’ll guess right from the beginning. Still, I will try to be a gentleman and let you figure it out on your own.
It’s apparent that the creative force behind My Soul to Take has no clear grip on what it is to be a teenager in America. All the typical Breakfast Club characters are present. The pretty one, the outcast, the nerd, the unbelievably violent jock…with the added bonus of an asian weho has 5 minutes screen time, a blind black kid who has 10 and a very attractive red head fire and brimstone religious fanatic. Do any of these character or their clichéd traits add anything of significance to the story? Are you kidding?! Of course not. They all end up as lunch meat and do little more than walk around uttering mundane, ridiculous dialog that you would never hear come out of a teenager’s mouth.
Our teeny-boppers attend a droll and disturbingly empty high school. Really, the school is gigantic yet the only people we ever see in the halls or out in the courtyard are our key players. There’s no hustle or bustle between classes and even the gigantic hallways remain empty as our teen protagonists trade off meaningless, vapid dialog for endless, yawn educing stretches.
And The Ripper himself (Which is my nickname every time I eat a helping of baked beans) is little more than a dreary, watered down potty mouthed amalgam of Freddy and Horace Pinker dressed up in a zombie Bob Marley costume. There’s also shades of Ghostface from the Scream franchise because The Ripper can’t just stalk and kill these kids. He has to give them taunting cell phone calls beforehand.

I suppose you can guess the fate of 'Blow-Job Gil' if you examine this photo. The Farter, er, The Ripper comes in from behind! Murder? Or surprise butt sex? See the movie...

Come to think of it, it’s almost as if Wes Craven put a handful of his films (Shocker, Scream, A Nightmare on Elm Street) in a blender and hit puree. Hell, there’s even elements from the lesser Nightmare films to be found. Remember that lame plot device Renny Harlin used in Nightmare on Elm Street Part 4: The Dream Master? The one where Alice absorbed the souls of her friends when they died and she could utilize the one character trait that made them unique (i.e. karate, strength training, um, the power to plug things into outlets and press the power button…) and used those abilities to defeat Freddy in the end? Well, a certain character in My Soul to Take has the same ability. He’s called the keeper of souls *face palm* only he doesn’t use any of their unique characteristics to defeat The Ripper, I mean what would he use? Blindness? Faith in God? Extreme Bitchiness? Constant Requests for blow jobs? These are not the weapons one needs to defeat a possibly supernatural monster intent on ripping out your lower intestine and using it as a jump rope.
No, this time around the souls help him figure out probability equations…to figure out the identity of the killer. Could it be one of the 7 kids (obviously not that one that dies in the beginning) or is it The Ripper returned from the grave? Or did The Ripper never die? The answer to this question is a lot lamer than you might initially think.
My Soul to Take is a film chock full of ideas, not good ones, but ideas nonetheless. Craven just can’t seem to find a way to incorporate all of them and leave space to realistically develop his characters or give them understandable motivations and instead just gives them endless scenes where they try and explain to the audience just what in the name of Hell is even happening. I just watched this film and I couldn’t even tell you what the sentiment was. Did Craven have anything to say? Near the conclusion of the film one characters whines out a line similar to, “People shouldn’t kill eachother all the time!” Yeah…what a message.

I swear the lead actor is channeling Jesse from A Nightmare on Elm Street part 2 through the entire film. His sister ain't half bad on the left there...

Well, My Soul to Take is a hunk of complete crap. I have to cut this review short because I could go one for another 2,000 words laying out every gripe I have with this flick. And this is coming from a guy who loves Trash Cinema. Maybe one day I will be able to laugh at this failure, but in the hands of Wes Craven, I expect more. I expect better.

With Scream 4 on the horizon let us all hope Wes Craven can regain some of the edge he once had and bring us something worth our time. I hope Craven can redeem himself. He’s an intelligent and talented man who should know what works in the genre by now. But after watching My Soul to Take, I cannot help but sense a sense of sadness and dread that one of the best lost his touch. Over a decade ago.

My Soul to Take. Your time to waste.

Stay Trashy,
-The Primal Root

Dec

Samurai Cop: Six Essential Moments

By primalroot 2 Comments

Categories: Dirty Thoughts with The Primal Root
Tags: Abdusction, action, Americans, Amir Shervan, ass, Attorney, awful, bad, battle, black, boobs, buddy, butt, butts, cinema, collective, comedy, Cop, Costa Rica, Costa Ricans, death, Denim, dumb, DVD, explosions, film, friends, Gangm, Gift, gifts, Gun, guns, hilarious, Japan, Japanese, junk, Kevin Cole, knives, lame, laugh out loud, Law, lunch, martial arts, Matt Hannon, meals, movie, naked, nipples, nudity, partners, penis, primal, Resteraunt, ridiculous, Robert Z'Dar, Root, samurai, Samurai Cop, so bad it's good, stunts, stupid, team, terrible, tits, Trash, video, violence, Waiter, Waiters

Hey Gang,

I’ve been asked by quite a few of our fellow Trash Collectors what my favorite Trash Cinema Classic is. Many assume it would be a popular favorite like the recently embraced Troll 2 or the break out craptastic hit, The Room. Is it a big budget bomb the likes of Howard the Duck? A filthy, pervy hunk of garbage like Showgirls? Or possibly an exploitation sleaze fest like Pieces?

Now, the above mentioned films and their ilk all hold a special place in my heart and have their own trashy merit. My favorite is still slowly and steadily being discovered. You know the term, “So bad, it’s good”? Yeah, that doesn’t even begin to describe my all time favorite Trash Cinema film, Samurai Cop. A no budget, shoddily made piece of action goofiness that surpasses the “So Bad, it’s good” genre and manages to ascend to a higher plain of cheese entertainment. It find brilliance in it’s mental deficiencies. Strength in it’s countless weaknesses. Panache in the poorest performances. Samurai Cop is…remarkable crap.

In all honesty, Samurai Cop is a film that has to be seen in it’s entirety to be believed. Lucky for you it is available on DVD for super cheap and even includes a hysterical audio commentary track from legendary Drive-In Movie Critic and my personal hero, Joe Bob Briggs which enhances the viewing experience.

However, I have put together a list of six ESSENTIAL clips from the classic action film, Samurai Cop. It’s incredibly difficult to narrow it down to six scenes in a film crammed full of beautiful trashy gems. Really, on a scene by scene basis the amount of ridiculously awesome shit just keeps pouring from the screen. So I did my best to put together these six scenes that I feel define the movie, Samurai Cop. Enjoy!

6. Samurai Cop calls Fujiyama out!

Our hero Joe (Samurai Cop) along with his partner Frank show up unannounced at evil be-mulleted mob boss Fukiyama’s luncheon he has thrown for all his evil henchmen. The scene is incredibly tense and in a barn burner of a scene, Samurai Cop unleashes a powerfully performed cautionary monologue about what America is all about. Prepare to be shaken to your very core.

5. The Black Gift

Samurai Cop may be the star of this film but the man who steals the show is his side kick, Frank. The man has a knack for simply rocking every scene he is in with his natural delivery and ever present sense of humor. At this point in the films Fujiyama has sent out his goons to kill off all the law enforcement officials involved with the investigation into his crime syndicate. Two of these henchmen make their way into Frank’s home just after the man has taken a shower. What truly makes this scene special is how the henchmen threaten Frank, the colorful choice of words and the awkward blocking. Simply, incredible.

4. The Opening Chase Climax and Sex Scene with Peggy (AKA: Keeping it Warm and Ready)

Now, anyone who knows their action movies will tell you any action film must be judged by how badass their opening chase sequence is. Samurai Cop has possibly the funniest, fastest most carnage filled opening car chase battle ever committed to film. I am serious, it has every cliche in the book as Samurai Cop and Frank drive from a busy marina, through the suburbs and onto a dirt road through the mountains after some drug dealers shooting at random as innocent civilians duck for cover and bad guys fling themselves out of the van as they die. But the scene reaches it’s apex as our our heros gun down the last man standing, and what goes down directly afterward (before they bother to report back to the chief) with police helicopter officer, Peggy.

3. The Color of Your Ass

Again, Frank is here to save the day as he and Samurai Cop regroup after a horrific stand-ff between themselves and Yamashita’s (Robert Z’Dar’s) henchmen. They dust themselves off and make an ass joke and move on with their investigation.

2. Feminine Costa Rican Waiter & Suicide

Samurai Cop was written and directed by a fellow named Amir Shervan. If you haven’t noticed already, this guy has a peculiar sense of humor. Never is it more apparent than in this scene that springs up out of nowhere between Samurai Cop, Frank and a Costa Rican waiter.

1. Circumcision, Jumbo Jets and the Majesty of Frank

If there is only one scene every must witness from Samurai Cop this is the one. This is the moment where everything falls into place and illustrates just why this film is at the very top of my Trash Cinema pile. I don’t want to ruin a thing for you. Just watch this scene and be amazed.

Like I said earlier, these are just some of my favorite scenes out of a film bursting with great moments just like the ones posted above. By all means, track this classic down and give it a watch. I promise, you will laugh yourself silly. Everyone plays it straight and I really think they all felt like they were making a serious action movie. The finished product comes off as one of the greatest 80′s action parodies ever produced.

So do yourselves a favor. Watch Samurai Cop. And keep it warm and ready in case I decide to drop by later.

Stay Trashy!

-The Primal Root

Sep

To The Limit: The Epitome of Trash Action

By primalroot Leave a Comment

Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: 1995, 95, acting, action, Anna Nicole Smith, assasins, assassins, bad, boobs, breasts, cheesy, Cinemax, ending, espionage, explosions, fatality, guns, helicopters, immolation, las vegas, mafia, mayehm, mobsters, murder, payback, paymate, playboy, senior citizes, sex, shoot outs, so bad it's good, spouse, straight to video, terrible, To the Limit, Travolta, twist, vendetta, VHS, vietnam, wedding

a Primal Root review

Whoever thought a person possessing a pretty face could be counted on to be a convincing actress was sorely mistaken. Never more so than with Anna Nicole Smith, the legendary Guess Jeans Girl and Playmate of the Year of 1993. The woman had a one of a kind look. Tall, striking facial features and a buxom body unlike most of her contemporaries at Playboy magazine. She was a fully stacked young woman, bred in the dirty south, and bringing that mentality into pop culture. A kind of trash glamour. There was a strange progression in the 90′s of models making the leap from photographs to motion pictures. Cindy Crawford did it with Fair Game and never made that mistake again. Milla Jovavich took a stab at it and has been gainfully employed ever since. And then there was Anna Nicole…

Smith had an appearance in the Cohen Brother’s film The Hudsucker Proxy before going on to co-star with Leslie Neilson in the 3rd Naked Gun movie. She was pretty and spoke her lines…well, but these appearances did little to further her career. It wasn’t until 1995 that Anna Nicole landed her first starring role in the craptastic action extravaganza, TO THE LIMIT! It didn’t do anything to further her career either, but hey, she was the star. I’m pretty sure this thing went straight to video and late night Cinemax.

Anna Nicole plays ex-CIA Agent Colette Dubios who is tracking down the man who murdered her husband and also gunned down mobster Frank DaVinci’s (Joey Travolta) wedding party with the aid of his trusty band of expert assassins who are willing to die for him. And have their tops ripped off and their breasts groped before being shot in the head by him. This militant Manson-esque psychopath, Arthur, is played with gusto by Jack Bannon. A couple years later Colette and DaVinci cross paths and reluctantly decide to join forces to take down the dick head who killed their respective spouses.

To The Limit is actually a pretty entertaining movie. Between the video game graphics passed off as actual footage, to te $200 dollar stunt work and passing off the dining room of a Shoney’s as a high scale Las Vegas Casino’s VIP room there’s a lot here for a Trash Cinema fan to love. Possibly my single favorite sequence is our dignified introduction to Colette, the CIA agent. The first time we ever see her she is stark naked in a warm bath masturbating. The sequences goes on for at least seven or eight minutes before her husband calls for her off screen and she utters her first line. “I’M COMING!”

Now that’s class.

Directly after this, Colette gets out of the bath and we are informed that she and her husband are late to DaVinci’s wedding. So they hurry, get dressed and head out…right? WRONG! No, they have an extended sex scene with Anna writhing and bouncing her massive chesticals all over the place. Hey, you cast Anna Nicole Smith in your movie, you damn well better get your moneys worth. Once they finish up, her hubby hops in the car and is blown to smithereens . The blast throws Colette back into the house where she coughs up blood upon hitting the ground (???) and lets out a couple yelps of sadness.

To the Limit is an excellent piece of garbage, and what makes it that much better, it doesn’t try to be anything else. There are hardly any breasts that go unrevealed, no ambush murder too obvious, no death too undignified. A perfect example of this comes in the form of the contract hit of womanizing mobster, Joey Bambino. The guy is holding auditions for dancers up in his hotel suite when he brings in this cute asian girl. She not only claims to be a dancer, but a masseuse. So, of course, the attractive, nubile young woman and the hairy, saggy, pock marked mafioso undress and get to the rubbing. The scene goes on longer than it should before she breaks out her special massage oil which, only after totally doused in it, does Joey realize smells an awful lot like gasoline. You can guess what happens next. That place starts smelling like charred hair and Italian sausage.

Along the way Colette and DaVinci end up bonding over the deaths of their spouses. They shed tears and then their clothes as they start banging the hell out of one another. It’s made all the more uncomfortable by the fact that DaVinci is a white haired fellow five years shy of being a senior citizen. But, hey, I guess there’s no better way of getting over your spouse’s horrific and haunting death than giving or receiving some deep dicking. Soon after the two make the sign of the double backed wombat they are ambushed by Arthur’s gang of hard boiled professional assassins. All of which are killed in less than five minutes by a playboy playmate and an over the hill mobster.

It all leads up to a climactic face off at the top of a dam where DaVinci comes face to face with the man responsible for crashing his wedding and also must decide if he can truly trust Coletta, the woman he dunked his doughnut in the night before. Now, I don’t want to spoil anything for you, but the climax is one of the greatest moments of sheer action goofiness I’ve ever seen unfold. Remember CD Face from Hellraiser 3? Yeah, let’s just say someone expected us to take this kind of fatality seriously outside the horror fantasy genre.

To The Limit hits the bullseye of the “So Bad It’s Good” term. Really, it’s a terrible, terrible, film but I can’t help but enjoy everything it doesn’t have going for it. And you know what the best aspect of the film is?Anna Nicole Smith. The woman is one of the worst actresses of all time. But unlike Julia Roberts, Anna Nicole Smith knows she is terrible. And there’s a sincerity to everything she does on screen. She’s trying, man, but she just can’t do it. She has a serious face, a sultry face and a happy face and they all look completely clueless. The most endearing moment of Anna’s arrives somewhere in the half way point of the film where she realizes an important file has gone missing. She looks at DaVinci so sadly and exclaims, “It’s been STOLDID.” Yes…stoldid. I rewound and listened to this scene a dozen time and she really does say “Stoldid.” Did director Ray Martino just not have time for a second take? For my money, I am glad he left this little treasure in the film. I mean, the dialog is pure nonsense anyway, you may as well let Anna Nicole spice it up and make it a little bit engaging with her mispronunciations. I still have no idea how she didn’t, at one point or another, show up in a John Waters film. It seems the two would make a natural fit.

Anna Nicole Smith is a Trash Cinema Legend for the ages. Her brief film career gave us some of the funniest and most outlandish action films ever made. It really is a shame Anna Nicole didn’t have the opportunity to make more of these hilarious action films. It was a blast watching her kick the shit out of some hired goons, flubbing her lines and getting naked in every other scene. Anna Nicole Smith was the trashiest of stars. She brought a sense of sweet, backwoods, naivety to everything she was a part of and it’s something I miss. I have a feeling it will be a long, long time before we ever have a sex symbol as trashy as Ms. Anna Nicole. Thank you for your contributions to down and dirty, low budget action. You may not have been the greatest actress but you sure were fun to watch.

Stay Trashy,

-The Primal Root

Posts Tagged ‘guns

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Drive Angry, That Old Drive-In Spirit

My Soul to Take…eh, you can keep it.

Samurai Cop: Six Essential Moments

To The Limit: The Epitome of Trash Action

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