Posts Tagged ‘movie

12
Feb
12

The Primal Root’s Top Five Trashy Valentine’s Day Mood Killers!

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Categories: Valentine's Day Mood Killers Top 5
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One of Primal Root’s Dirty Thoughts

Valentine’s Day is a strange holiday.  Unlike Christmas or Thanksgiving, no one gets Valentine’s Day off. It’s not like Halloween which is renown for it’s fun frights and sugar fueled excess, St. Patrick’s day with it’s green beer and date rapes, but what of Valentine’s Day? There’s no way to avoid it.  You take your special lady friend over to the pharmacy to pick up her birth control and you are greeted with aisles upon aisles of heart shaped, overpriced pieces of  cardboard stuffed with enough tooth decaying sweets to put the entire population of the east coast into a diabetic coma as well as grotesque stuffed animals that play Marvin Gaye’s “sexual healing” when you squeeze the shit out of them.  Like anyone wants that kind of sentiment coming from a furry friend such as a bear or a cat. The whole notion is sick! JUST SICK!

But, I digress,  ANYHOO,  with our collective taste in cinema, Valentine’s Day is a tricky day of the year, especially for us Trash Cinema Connoisseurs.  Which is why I am compiling this list of movies that we might watch on Valentin’s Day,  but might ruin any shot you possibly had at getting some Valentine’s Day love friction.

However, if you do watch these with that special someone and they still glance at you longingly as opposed to sheer terror before bolting out a closed window (ala: any 80′s/90′s action flick) followed by a restraining order  arriving in the mail 30 days later…you’ve found a keeper. ;)

On with the awkward, grueling and stomach churning!

5) Street Trash (1987) dir. J. Michael Muro

Because if there’s a batch of thing you want to think about when you’re groping your lover after dinner at 4 star restaurant, it’s the aroma of a career New York City hobo. Street Trash tells the tail of the internal strife and trouble of the immense Hobo population of NYC who live in a sprawling metropolis of filth and shit puddles down at the local dump.  A new threat has been introduced into their world in the form of a long lost batch of booze known as Tenafly Viper which turns anyone who drinks it into a thick, brightly colored puddle of glop. The very first unlucky victim end up slowly, horrifically and semi-comically melting into a toilet and inadvertently flushing himself down it.

Street Trash is a sick and twisted little film that comes off feeling like one of Peter Jackson’s long lost early works.  the film features necrophilia, an fairly nightmarish group rape,  police officer’s beating people within an inch of their lives and then puking on them, and a moment where a lovely young woman nearly gives a bum a blowjob…a filthy, stinky bum who hasn’t bathed in months and has been sporting the same pair of crusty B.V.D.’s out in the summer heat. Who in the world would put themselves through that?

As hobos melt, women get repeatedly raped and fat guys explode, Street Trash is sure to douse the flames of burgeoning passion pretty f-ing fast, my friends.

4) The Brood (1979) dir. David Cronenberg

Ah, David Cronenberg. The master of body horror and making us not only feel intense anxiety regarding our physical being but basic human interaction in general. Which could be the reason he appears TWICE in my Top 5 Valentine’s Day Mood Killers List.  The man have a panache for pulling the rug out from under the typical sappy cinematic notions of love, romance, sex (that’s for damn sure) and the notion of a classical happy ending. Hence, his 1979 classic embittered divorcee film, “The Brood”.

Speaking from a experience, unless you are with a partner that is incredibly confident, bringing up an old relationship or flame is a sure fire way to throw a bucket of cold water on any kind of romantic moment.  I know many guys and girls are guilty of that whole past relationship jealousy trap. It’s ridiculous when you boil down, hell, you’re with this person now but for some reason you can;t get over the fact that *gasp* your lover had a life before you! You should be thanking your lucky stars their ex (girlfriend, boyfriend, wife, husband, gimp, dominatrix, stalker, etc.) isn’t manifesting their intense bitterness and hatred into child sized, hoodie sporting, murderous minions born through saggy, goop filled abdominal pulp sacks…Really. You’ve got it good.

The Brood is one of those films that’s going to do little else than make you and your closest companion feel uncomfortable. You’ll end up watching and imagining a few psycho ex-partners and how if they could make little midget killer sacks pawns grow out of their gut fat and come after you with malicious, creeping rage and a meat clever in hand, they would not hesitate to do so.  And who in the world wants that shit running through their head when you’re laying on the cough with your lover in your arms?  And nothing brings on a make out session like a woman gnawing open some grotesque, dripping belly goiter and then licking the living contents clean with her tongue. No amount of smooth talking is going to get the mood back after that kind of viewing experience.

3) I Spit On Your Grave (1978) dir. Meir Zarchi

Oh boy…yeah, I guess this one really goes without saying, but if you REALLY want to obliterate a sweet, lovey-dovey evening beyond the point of no return? Meir Zarchi’s quintessential rape/revenge epic is your weapon of choice. When you absolutely, positively have to turn off every mother fucker in the room? Accept no substitute.

But, in all honesty, rape is probably the last subject you want to bring up with perspective girl/boyfriend let alone an established relationship. I Spit On Your Grave features one of the longest gang rape sequences ever committed to film. Just when you think our victim/avenger, Jennifer (the stunning and talented Camille Keaton) has escaped she runs afoul of another rape happy redneck ready to violate her.

I Spit on Your Grave is the purest antithesis of the Valentine’s Day mood setter.  Between the jaw droppingly vicious rape sequences to the well deserved revenge of Jennifer’s, which reaches it’s pinnacle during a bubble bath castration sequence that just made my genitals recede into my abdomen at just the recollection of it, I Spit on Your grave is pound for pound the heavy weight champ of the awkward evening with your sweetheart.  Which might be why I Spit on Your Grave has become a tradition on Valentine’s Day in the Root household. I’m kind of a weirdo, gang, it’s time you learned this.

SO! Unless you want to watch this thing out of some odd, twisted, trash cinema sense of logic like I do, I would keep I Spit on Your Grave OFF your Valentine’s Day viewing itinerary.

2) Cutting Moments (1997) dir. Douglas Buck

Ahhh, the American Dream perpetuated by the constant rotation of the Hollywood conveyor belt. The beautiful wife, the kids, the quaint house in the suburbs with the white picket fence.  These are the measures of success as prescribed to us by society at large. It’s a common, cliched romantic notion that so many of us buy into hook line and sinker. But, as we have gathered through our own experiences of watching relationships and people around us fall apart due to the constant struggle to attain these perceived obligations,  the dream more often than not, fails.

But on Valentine’s Day no one wants to believe in unhappy endings! that things won;t all work out for the best! One things for certain, if you do decide to get hitched, produce some hell spawn, get a mortgage and dwell int he suburbs there’s a good chance things will never reach the level of bloody desperation chronicled in Douglas Bucks’ short film, “Cutting Moments”.

I’ve seen a lot of sick, dark, depressing, stuff, gang. But never have I seen a more harrowing portrayal of an American nuclear family marred by repression, guilt, shame, secrets and lies. My god (Cthulhu) watching this not even 10 minute long short film is just about all you’ll ever need top swear off marriage forever!  The majority of the film is spent in silence with nothing more than the empty sounds of cutting. Whether it’s trimming the hedges, or cutting up carrots. Hardly anyone speaks.These people are so dead inside already it’s like they live in a tomb. There’s no passion, no love, no spark and there’s even the insinuation of child molestation. My god,  did that rhyme?  It’s like they live in a vacuum. It’s only when wife and mother, Sarah, takes drastic measures to put the intimacy back into the relationship with her husband that the blood finally flows back into their lives reminding them once again of the flesh and blood that makes them human.

Too many folks lie to themselves and tell themselves they are with the right person in order to fulfill these empty societal ideals. They get hitched, pop a baby or two out and then either hold all their resentment and bitterness inside or get divorced and use their kids as emotional leverage against their former spouse. It’s all just as sick and saddening as what’s present in Cutting Moments. Watching this puppy on Valentine’s Day is sure to fill your head with enough “What if’s” to have you heading to bed along that night.

1) The Fly (1986) dir. David Cronenberg

Alright, now this is a love story! It really is! When watching Cronenberg’s masterful remake of The Fly it’s easy to forget about the love story at hand taking place between journalist, Veronica and Seth Brundle, the brilliant young scientist working on a breakthrough in matter transference. Veronica falls hard for the quirky, charming, and intelligent Brundle and they begin a whirlwind romance.  Two smart, attractive, young people in love…what could go wrong?

Holy fuck…

The Fly is like a check list of all the things that could possibly go wrong in a loving relationship. Clingy, stalker ex boyfriend? CHECK! Being careless and doing incredibly stupid things in order to prove your love to your partner in a fit of misguided jealousy? CHECK! Inide-Out bloody monkey moosh? CHECK! These two start out as such a believably cute and perfect couple that it makes all the events that much more tragic as Seth begins his transformation from his sweet, adorable, self into a sickly, revolting monster replete with loose body parts and a need to vomit on everything. It’s a terrifying and devastating transformation as we watch, along with Veronica, her love disintegrate and go mad before her very eyes.

The Fly is one of the most epic of all cinematic tragic love stories.  Many critics and commentators have weighed in on the film’s apparent HIV/AIDS subtext, and that’s a smart deciphering of the film, for sure. But The Fly is also a testament to how truly heart wrenching and deeply devastating love can be.  Veronica is unable to leave Seth’s side and tries to help him, to take care of him, however she can only to end up, with all hope lost, and having to come to terms with losing the one she loved and putting the beast he has become out of it’s misery.  Only someone who really feels love and compassion for another is willing to do such a thing.

Upon first viewing it’s easy for the love story to get lost under a puddle of neon green battery acid fly man digestive puke. But once you get over that initial shock and awe you begin to fully realize and appreciate the romantic tragedy that is, The Fly. By the end of the film you and your sweetheart may have a deeper understanding of the obligations true love requires. Well, this is kind of a drastic example, but you catch my drift. It’s not much of a romantic notion, but in some situations, there are no happy endings. Even if you’re in love.

Well, those are my top 5 Valentine’s Day Mood Killers! Keep in mind, these are just my picks. There are about a million flicks out there to choose from and I would love to hear which Trash Cinema Epics you recommend as the true cinematic equivalents of a romance epicac. Please, drop us a line in our comments! I would love to hear some of your favorites. :D

Until next time, remember to wrap it up every time, don’t name it after me and love the one you’re with!HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!

Stay Trashy,

-Root

10
Jan
12

The Devil Inside: The Devil’s in the Dullness

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Categories: The Devil Inside
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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

09
Jul
11

TerrorVision: Don’t Worry, It Brought Plenty of Lube!

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a Primal Root Written Reviews

To be completely honest I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I sat down to watch TerrorVision, this 1986 horror flick whose VHS covered adorned just about every video store shelf when I was a kid. The artwork promised something dark and sinister…but the title? Terror-Vision? I sounded like something more akin to the 1992 John Ritter flick, ‘Stay Tuned’or Joe Dante’s trippy segment from the 1983 Twilight Zone Movie. After finally watching this sucker, it turns out, I was a lot closer to the mark than I knew.

We are introduced to The Putterman’s, your average yuppie, Reagan era family complete with Cyndy Lauper wanna teenage daughter, enthusiastic Rambo-esqu pre-teen son, and parents who are more interested in the latest technology, covering their home with erotic art and getting into the swinger trend and boasting about it proudly…in front of their children, who understandable, seem to be holding back the bile and cringing with deep mental scarring. Come on, kids, lighten up! Because being a cock-hopping swinger smack dab in the middle of the AIDS epidemic was the responsible choice many parents were making at the time…

Earthlings, what a bunch of dickweeds.

The Putterman’s are hooking up their brand new, state of the art satellite dish that can beam deep into space and broadcast all kinds of kinky, weird shit from everywhere imaginable for their viewing pleasure on their 12 inch screen television (not exaggerating.). Programs like down and dirty pornography, MTV, and, wouldn’t you know it, carnivorous monster garbage from space that oozes it’s way right out of the set and into your lap! I mean, the dish itself is the size of a Volkswagen bus and the remote is the size of an Atari 2600 game console (replete with mini satellite dish on top) so this kind of shit was bound to happen. DAMN YOU TECHNOLOGY! Bringing forth unwanted alien evil right into our living room! How topical…

This monster looks like a huge family gathering had a sloppy-joe eating contest, all got food poisoning and then vomited this monster into creating. It’s slimy, hideous, and goofy as all hell. It’s not particularly frightening until it shows off it’s Grundle-Fly eating skills. This guy shoots out it’s tongue, which resembled to arms covered in a red tarp and dipped in bacon fat, that connects with it’s meal, injects acidic digestive fluids and then slurps up the gooey remains.The monster has several variations of this eating routine, all are gross, all are messy. First we had to worry about Fox News invading the living room, now THIS SHIT!

Had to include this picture because I laughed at it so hard I farted.

Early on, The Putterman’s visiting Grandpa and lizard enthusiast (don’t ask. it bares no foreshadowing or has anything to do with the rest of the film), is attacked and turned into fuddy-duddy creamed corn right before his little grandson’s very eyes. Luckily, this grandson is packing heat, brandishing an AK-47 and plenty of grenades. The young man spends the majority of the movie trying to warn everyone from his sex crazed, ugly parents to his nimrod of a sister and her metalhead boyfriend. Even a TV horror movie host and Elvira send up called Medusa! No one wants to believe the young man…until it’s too late!

Medusa, I suppose there's no threat of me looking into her eyes when she's wearing that outfit.

TerrorVision is an excercize in camp horror that the viewer will either understand and enjoy thoroughly or be annoyed with and tune out right away. I was the oddball on the fence. This thing looks like a living cartoon. From the color scheme, to the overacting, to the concept of the movie itself. I’s almost unbearable goofy. The single thing that saves it is the films much appreciated wicked sense of humor. TerrorVision is not afraid to kill off ANYONE or go for any dark, mean spirited laugh. TerrorVision is really a one of a kind movie in a lot of ways and really throws the viewer off kilter right from the very beginning. You don’t know what to expect as the tone shifts all over the place from light to dark in the blink of an eye. I always appreciate a film that keeps me wondering just where the hell it’s taking me. TerrorVision is one of those films. However, I cannot be sure if that was intentional or not…

I’ve gotta mention that TerrorVision also needs a medal of honor for being the slimiest damn movie I have ever seen. From the characters, to the aliens, to the liquefied remains of the carpet, it’s as if everything on set has been doused with a liberal appliance of K-Y Jelly. I can;t imagine how it must have been to work on this set with your fingers constantly being lubed up as your tried to focus the camera or simply walk to craft service table…where all the food must have tasted like anal lube.

TerrorVision is not for the faint of heart and I can only recommend it to the most dedicated of Trash Cinema fans. IF you think you have to fortitude to sit through this divine, 80′s, sci-fi,  horror, comedy stinker, be my guest. I’m sure you’ll be glad you tuned in. ;)

21
Apr
11

Insidious? More like Ridicirous

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Categories: Root's Written Reviews
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a Primal Root written Review

Man, do I love a good ghost story. I am a bit of a skeptic when it comes to ghost stories, haunted houses and supernatural tales in general, but that does not mean the idea of ghosts doesn’t creep me out. This is why I am so saddened that there are so few GREAT haunted house tales at the googaplex anymore.

They are a rarity.

Which is why I had moderately high hopes for Insidious, the latest film from director James Wan (First Red Flag) the director behind the original Saw and the still born Dead Silence. It is also from the producers of Paranormal Activity (Second Red Flag) . But, hey, the early reviews said it was something pretty spooky and the trailers had me curious so I figured I’d give it a go. So, my date and I curled up in our seats and waited for the scares.

"I am scared."

The story concerns a young married couple and their three youngsters who are living in an old, creaky, fire hazard home that’s obviously haunted from the second you lay your eyes on it. It’s also about twelve stories tall. The Dad (Patrick Wilson) is a school teacher who is never home and leaves his lovely songwriting, baby making, wife (Rose Byrne) home alone to deal with the supernatural happening. Early on their young son, (Ty Simpkins) falls down a ladder in the attic after his negligent parents allow him to wonder off in their death trap of a house. Of course, the kid goes into a pseudo coma that cannot be diagnosed and the haunting gets more severe. So they more to nice, boring, modern house…

And shit gets even worse.

The family calls in some paranormal investigators, psychics in gas masks and the whole things plays out like a pitch to Universal Halloween Horror Nights.

"I am concerned."

To my amazement the first half of this film did an okay job of delivering some genuine intrigue and a handful of jolts. But even as these scares were being delivered I couldn’t help but feel like there were gaping holes in the story here. Like there are entire reels missing from the story. The character development is left at establishing how everyone is related and their method of income. There’s really nothing else there for us to hold onto as far as knowing these characters. The exist, they are scared, and that’s all you need to know. And Dad’s a teacher. Okay, let’s move on.

There’s also a great example of missing film when Patrick Wilson sits on the front steps of the house with Rose Byrne as she voices her concern over the supernatural presence in their house. She tells stories of all these creepy things that have happened to her while Patrick Wilson is away at work…things we as an audience never saw. Why are you telling us about the creepy events when you could be, you know, SHOWING us these things? Isn’t that one of the first rules of screenwriting? Don’t tell us. Show us.

BUTT SEX!

But, overlooking these short falls, the movie does excel in creating some excellent nightmare imagery. This is  when ‘Insidious’ really cooks. When Rose Byrne goes to take out the trash and her record changes to a different song and as she looks in the window she sees a small figure dancing to the music a couple rooms away. Or when Patrick Wilson’s Mom, Barbara Hershey, describes a nightmare she had where she encounters a dark presence in their son’s room. All these images and the way they are filmed and presented feel exactly how nightmares do and it’s chilling stuff.

Sadly, the film faulters in it’s final act when ‘Insidious’ shows it’s cards. Patrick Wilson goes tot he other side and we are shown WAY too much of that supernatural world these creatures inhabit. Some things are so much more horrifying when left to the imagination. As Dad faces off against the Darth Maul looking, hoof footed menace who loves tip toeing through the tulips, you get the distinct feeling the flick has completely jumped the shark.  My date actually mentioned how much the second half felt like an ‘Are You Afraid of the Dark?’ episode, and she was spot on. It’s as if James Wan wrote his ass into a corner and took the lazy way out. Rather than paying things off with scares it transforms into a snooze fest as the audience begins looking at their watches wondering when it will all come to an end.

How the audience looked during the second half od Insidious.

The filmmaker tries to pull off a twist ending like his previous films, but anyone who is aware of his penchant for ham handed twists will see this one coming a mile away, and it’s a face palmer of a way to end things. What started out modestly interesting ends in a flash of empty spook house tactics that are somewhat fun to look at but don’t really work when it comes to tapping into the psychology of those watching hoping to go home hoping for that thrill of the ghost story to still be with them when they turn out the light to go to bed…

Stay Trashy!

-The Primal Root

20
Apr
11

uncle grumpy fuck remembers: “Manos”: The Hands of Fate (part two of two)

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Categories: Uncle Grumpy Fuck Remembers
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an Uncle Grumpy Fuck recollection…

We’re taken back suddenly to the young Sodomite couple,still going at it hours later,and yet again our fun is ruined by the arrival of the fuzz..I swear to Manos if they ruin our potential fluid covered fuck scene one more time I will take a stick and draw unflattering caricatures of their 4 mothers in the sand and piss on them!!! Damn!..sigh…


Meanwhile Frank Zappa wakes up looking fresh as a daisy, gives Tunafish Sandwich Man a pupparoni, says his 10 hail Manos’s, and bids his snoozing slave chicks awaken. One minute they’re part of the decor,then quicker than OJ slicing white meat they’re babbling away like hens on robin eggs. Small surprise. They yammer and bicker over whether to sacrifice an unclean tardling to their loving demigod and finally a 6-vegan tag team of epic proportions begins. ..and much semen is spilled. Seriously, from Enter the Dragon to Gymkata you will never find choreography to compare to this dazzlingly arousing vag-battle. It’s just that good,damn, more peppermint for the grands! Heh!
Back home, as Torgo counts little hunchback sheep Frank arrives and after gaining control of his lust wakes the sleeping manservant with a tender tap on his hot curly weenie, with his staff. Whoa, settle down ladies. Torgo stirs and after an argument over missing dandruff on the slave chicks shoulders, Frank banishes him from the Junior League forever. The shock is too much and our hero swoons like John Waters at a Justin Beiber concert. Frank then delivers a demoniacal laugh and mesmerizing gaze that would chill the blood of ..I don’t know, something with a lot of blood I guess,I don’t know, a tick or something..no, a cow, it would chill the blood of a large cow,okay?


Back to the bound and still unconscious Mr W, the dingos have apparently smelled his young malformation’s stench upon him and have left him alone to die of exposure when one of Frank’s walking mushrooms sneaks up to him, then in a total confusion of emotion she passionately sucks his teeth clean then slaps the living crap out of him several times in an unsuccessful attempt to rid him of head lice.
Master Zappa in the meanwhile,with one of his trollops and the subdued Torgo return to their squatters camp to find the other nymphs STILL going at it! ..and we’ve been missing it all this time! Damn your eyes Jew directorproducterscreenplay guy! Shit! ..His personal strumpet leaps onto one of the combatants and smacks her fillings out before Frank immediately settles them down by holding up a bottle of xanax. Frank then orders the sweaty mosh crowd to do away with Torgo so they engage in a scene of group petting and tickling that makes your scrotum itch, until he suffers an aneurysm from an overabundance of shoulder pheromones. What a way to go for our hero,makes you wish you had large calcium deposits on your back too don’t it?! Over all of this Coletrane and Liberace just cannot get coordinated on the soundtrack music. Then suddenly the supposedly dead Torgo gets up and Frank turns his hand into another charred addition to the inside decor and Torgo escapes to Guatemala to found a new church in the name of his newest savior, Captain Beefheart.


Meanwhile Mr. W has woken up and escaped from the pretend bonds,rushing to get his lovely bride and their casualty of creation away from there before Frank gets his mic and amplifiers set up. We then see that Frank is killing some time slapping the dogshit out of his first wife,by Manos how many men wish…sigh,nevermind. One of his skags then informs him that the family has escaped and Frank orders them pursued and brought back before Sanford and Son begins,they scramble to do so.   The family finally decides to go back to the abode,though they’ve eluded capture up to then, but as they return and approach the compound, Frank and Tunafish Sandwich Man emerge to go for walkies. Mr W whips out his pistol and fires away,intent on revenge for the Valley Girls movie,however Frank being dead as a doornail is unaffected by the simple blanks.
The movie closes with a couple of skanky prostitutes driving up into the sticks to hit up their meth dealer for some smoke when they come upon the compound and Mr. W walked out and starts delivering Torgo’s dialogue. Apparently Frank wanted to be in the sequel and offered Mr. W Torgo’s job in trade for his clinging vine wife and their stunted cabbage cub. Naturally Mr. W goes for it and we have a happy ending and the film closes with another awful number by Kitt,ugh, singing.

There you have it, an accurate and informative review and critique of a film that has grown like a lovely poisonous mushroom into the classic it deserves to be viewed as,praise Manos.

17
Mar
11

Uncle Grumpy Fuck Remembers: “Manos”: The Hands of Fate (Part One of Two)

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Hey Gang, The Primal Root here! I just wanted to introduce you to our latest contributor to the Trash Cinema Collective,the lovable little sleazeball, Uncle Grumpy Fuck! He will be joining us to muse about the most notable of dumpster nuggets from yesteryear in his own, trademarked, bizarro style. Note, this man doesn’t give a shit about our societies need for political correctness, the guy calls it like he sees it and never holds back. And this makes his writing incredibly funny to read. So without any further a due, enjoy Uncle Grumpy Fuck’s look back at the Trash Cinema Classic, “Manos”: Te Hands of Fate.

Stay Trashy,

-The Primal Root

an Uncle Grumpy Fuck recollection

…mmmm, yes, that’s good sweetie,the peppermint is just a little further down, just keep..oh.. hi! You’re old pal Uncle Grumpyfuk here- no-no sweetie just keep going- just babysitting the grands, heh,heh. Today we’ll be reviewing the masterpiece from the creator of Lassie, “Manos, Hands of Fate” …mmm oohhh yes sweetie,there’s your peppermint,now wipe your mouth and run along Billy,go find and play with your sister! Heh,kids!


The film begins with some light traffic,the blood begins to congeal. A convertible pulls over and we’re introduced to Mike…Something (Hal Warren,the director and producer,who also wrote the screenplay,talk about cheap, jeez,ah these Hollywood jews…), and his wife Margaret..Something(Diane Mahree,cute but possesses the acting talent of chloroform), we’ll call the couple Mr. & Mrs. W and their unfortunate daughter ‘Debbie’ who is apparently severely retarded,therefore she will be addressed as all retarded children should be addressed, with revulsion and nauseous contempt. Her little dog sucks too.
The family drives for a few moments when they get pulled by a pair of representatives of our police state for extortion purposes, however after the father rightfully blames everything on their retarded daughter the gullible swine allow them to leave unmolested, due to a moment of unaccustomed empathy for the couple’s shame. After a number by Urtha Kitt is abruptly interrupted by some shroomed out beatnik warbling about ‘doing a thing’ or some such thing, it sounded disgusting, we flash to a young Sodomite couple swilling alcohol and fornicating publicly,and just as we’re led to believe things are looking up, shit! Here come the Keystone ..Police ..Guys to break up their tonsil-rimming and send them on their way. This is one scene that truly reflects real life btw, Zig Fucking Heil America!!! Lousy Pigs!…pant,pant…
Anyway, back to Mr and Mrs W,with their little gimp and her crappy dog,they’ve become lost and hit a dead end, turn around and quicker than you can say ‘anal probe fapfest’ they come upon a compound…that wasn’t there before! Spooky, but there,framed in the doorway is the true lead of the film, Torgo the twitching spastic hunchback played with masterful grace and intensity by John Reynolds, esquire. It must be said that Reynolds portrayal of our tortured hunchback sets the new standard by which all hunchbacks have been graded since, Charles Lawton and Christy McNichol shall be forgotten forever more.


Though extremely reluctant, and understandably so due to their unfortunate daughter and her four-legged mangeloaf, and despite his warnings that his ‘Master’ will be displeased by their presence the gracious Torgo invites the family to stay. His convincingly painful limp and jittery mannerism are a quintessential study of the method style of acting. As they enter the adults immediately halt to admire the fashionable Layne Bryant Fall decor, notable the mantle decorations, some charred human arms and a bust of Spock, and above the mantle is a flattering portrait of the Master; apparently Torgo is a disciple of Frank Zappa and his faithful doberman pincher familiar, Tunafish Sandwich Man. As the couple stares stupidly at the painting,secretly gagueing it’s potential value on ebay, at least 14.00 surely, Debbie tries to …I’m sorry,I apologize but my disgust demands I refrain from using an undeserved human name for the couple’s genetic malfunction, therefore I will simply use the first syllable and henceforth refer to her simply as Deh, and as for her crappy little dog, he shall be known from here on as…Crappy Fucking Little Dog. That’s better…anyway she tries to cornhole the crusty pooch when it actually stands on two legs and begs to be taken to the gas chamber rather than spend another horrid day with their little tax writeoff.


Suddenly outside a castrated dingo achieves a righteous orgasm and Mr W and Crappy Fucking Little Dog rush out to watch and possibly participate,however the excitement is too much for Crappy Fucking Little Dog and his tiny inbred heart gives out. He croaks on the spot and Joy is ours, Manos be praised! The parents tell a convincing lie to Deh, that Crappy Fucking Little Dog ran away to find a normal,unretarded little girl to love. Her tears give us comfort. They decide to leave but the car won’t start, they whine at the patient Torgo for a minute,then again their attention becomes arrested by the hypnotic portrait of Zappa,and while thus enthralled Deh wanders outside to look for mealworms.

After realizing she’d disappeared and thoroughly searching the sparsely furnished room they try standing on the front stoop and calling in an almost convincing note of despair. They turn to see Deh with Tunafish Sandwich Man who tears away from the rancid smelling childling the moment the opportunity presents itself. Deh croaks out in her caustic tard language of some strange people (note irony), she then takes them to a nearby clearing to find Frank and some girls from his drum circle crashed out, no doubt wacked on wheatgrass goofballs and excessive masturbation.
The family of 2 1/2 rush back to Torgo’s abode and while the father tries unsuccessfully to start the car, Torgo and Mrs. W get busy, yeah. Torgo’s Bondesque technique and charm rival even Shields and Yarnell on demerol, lulling Mrs. W into a frozen figure of wanton desire (look for wet spot in front of dress, oh yeah) as Torgo masterfully pushes all of her shoulder buttons,Torgo you dog, you are the Man! His sensual afterglow recalls Paris Hilton after getting shagged like an alley cat on the web,meow! ..and, like a sated feline Mrs. W slaps him passionately signalling that the coupling is complete. No piggies to break up this raunchy porn scene,no-siree Bob!


Meanwhile Torgo has made his way to the glen and after cackling and babbling at everyone he gives one of the drum circle girls some sweet Torgo shoulder love, (going for the hat trick tonight, you dog!) then passes out from the effort, yeah, we know about that one eh guys? Heh,oh yeah! You go buddy!
Torgo heads back to the house and makes his way to the bedroom window where the still tingling Mrs. W is stripping in anticipation of more shoulder action. Our hero leers in from the window like Rosie O’Donnell at a cheerleading contest,in a truly  classic scene for the ages. Mrs. W pretends to be surprised, yeah, nice ‘acting’ baby. Mr. W has gone back to the glade when Torgo puts a whippin’ on him with his hand stick, and an awesome duet by Liberace and John Coltrane begins, the saxophone virtuosity is amazing while Torgo kills 3 minutes of film time tying up the uncooperative director/producer screenwriter. He then leaves the unconscious father for the dingos to devour at their leisure…

UNCLE GRUMPY FUCK’S CONCLUSION COMING SOON!

11
Mar
11

‘The Dirty Mind of Young Sally’: Heating up the Airwaves

By primalroot Leave a Comment
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I think I see something subliminal in this poster...

a Primal Root written review

Sexploitation, one of the many sub-genres of exploitation, is a bit of an acquired taste. Seeing as I am huge fan of sex  and also happen to be a perverted deviant in general, you could say, I have a natural capacity for the subject matter. Sexploitation is the term used to categorize independently produced hardcore and softcore (non-explicit material) flicks exhibited in adult “grindhouse” theaters.  And then there are the sub-genres within sexploitation like roughies, nudie cuties, etc. Trust me, we could be here all day talking about all the different types of sexploitation flicks made in the span of time it took the 60′s to reach the early 70′s when advertising bans complicated matters a bit too much.

Still, movies of such high caliber entrainment were being produced well into the 90′s and were available at your local video store and late night on many premium cable channels. :D Trust me, that shit got me through my teenage years.

Moving on, I recently came across and old, dusty, VHS copy of the 1970 sexploitation picture, ‘The Dirty Mind of Young Sally’, while organizing the shelves at Video 21 (When in Tallahassee, be sure to visit us!). right on the cover it has the illustrated image of a woman fondling a radio mic as if it were an engorged wang-doodle she’s about to show her uvula off to. Proving, not only does young Sally have a dirty mind, the target audience has one as well.

The plot is simple enough, it centers on Dirty Sally (Colleen Brennan billed as Sharon Kelly) a buxom, cute, fiery red head who  has a remarkably popular pirate radio show she happens to run out of her van. She travels cross country continually broadcasting “music to ball to”, giving sex advice, and masturbating on the air. Her listeners cannot help but have beach orgies, get naked at bars while beatniks mess around on the bongos, and even lose their virginity in the back of horrifically uncomfortable looking dune buggies under the cover of night after suggestively telling your boyfriend you are going to take a piss in the woods.

Young Sally does her thing and not yours!

Sally is constantly being chased by the authorities who desperately want to get her sinful, evil, filthy sex talk off the air! There are teenagers all over the country getting it on! They’re making out and going down on one another! This obviously MUST be stopped. There certainly aren’t any other more important crimes to attend to in the U.S. of A. Sally is able to avoid the cops with the help of her technician, driver, part-time lover and full time goofball, Toby (The man, the myth, the legend, George ‘Buck’ Flower).

It’s a pretty basic scenario. Law enforcement officials are made to look like bumbling fools, Sally is an intelligent, sexually open, independent woman that I find far cooler and hip than any of the broads on ‘Sex and the City.’ And the teenagers are as dumb and horny as ever. I think there may be a kernel of a message to be found in this plot about the importance of free speech and the freedom of expression and how we can damn do what we want to with whomever we want as long as no one is getting hurt. I mean, it’s right there. All they had to do was write a speech for Sally…but I guess it was more important to show blonds getting it on with pasty, bearded, balding men on the beach.

I sat watching ‘The Dirty Mind of Young Sally’ and as these relatively dull sex scenes went on for 10-15 minute stretches my mind began to wonder. Why in the world do none of these guys have hardons? It makes no sense to me. These guys have naked women all over them, grinding their lady bits into their faces, playing around with their love caulker and it just sags there like a wet noodle.  It’s not just in this film, I’ve become keenly aware of this phenomenon in other Harry Novak pictures. How in the world are they able to stay flaccid? I have a feeling with most of us guys, if we were put in this situation, you’d have to duck tape our fella down if you didn’t want it stealing the show.

Another thing, where are all these spontaneous group orgies? Do these things only happen when I’m not there? When I go to a party and everyone is drinking, having a good time, and some of there’s even some there I’d love to hook up with, do they wait for me to leave before everyone hops in an inflatable pool and start slinging genitals as if it were Armageddon time. Then again, I always fear afterward I will feel empty inside. But then I also fear DURING the orgy I might NOT be empty inside…so there are a lot of things to consider before squirting on the lube and hoping on top of the pile.

Can the mic pick up that she's rubbing her boobs together? (Colleen Brennan as Sharon Kelly as Young Sally.)

Anyway, The Dirty Mind of Young Sally is an easy, light weight, bit of none-intrusive social commentary chock full of naked breasts and unaroused members. The glue that holds the whole flick together is  Colleen Brennan as the adorable and sexy lead character, Sally. Colleen has a very natural way about her. Almost a girl next door sort of sexiness. She doesn’t have much more to do in the film besides talk dirty, smile and get naked, but she does it such charisma and openness one cannot help but be enchanted. This was actually the first in a remarkably long career in exploitation cinema. She would appear in such classics as Foxy Brown,  Supervixens and Ilsa: She Wolf of the SS but towards the end of her career she began doing more hardcore, pornographic films like Taboo III, Trinity Brown and Hot Blooded. She would leave the film scene for good in 1990 with just over 100 flicks to her credit. According to IMDB, she know runs her own sex hotline business.

The Dirty Mind of Young Sally is certainly dated but it is still a fun watch.  However, there are some dry, spells here and there and some of the cop comedy tries way too hard. But when it works, it does so well. Thanks to the eye catching talent of Ms. Colleen Brennan. Can someone find Colleen and book her for a convention appearance? I would love to meet her in person.

The Dirty Mind of Young Sally is available on DVD from something Weird Video on a double bill with another Colleen Brennan Classic, Teenage Bride.

Stay Trashy,

-The Primal Root

25
Feb
11

My Soul to Take…eh, you can keep it.

By primalroot Leave a Comment
Categories: Root's Written Reviews
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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

05
Dec
10

Two Moon Junction: The Perils of White Privilage or These are the Problems You Want to Have

By primalroot Leave a Comment
Categories: Trash After Dark
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a Primal Root review

You know, I always wondered what the way to a gorgeous, sexually repressed, southern debutante’s heart would be. How in the world could I ever get such a woman nekkid and in the sack or living room carpet? Well, believe it or not, the path is easily traversed. All you need is a cute dog and penchant for breaking and entering.

That is, if the 1988 soft core sexploitation flick Two Moon Junction is to be believed. Written and directed by the mastermind  behind The Red Shoe Diaries, Mr. Zalman King (remember his awesome acting skills in such Trash Cinema greats as Trip with the Teacher and Galaxy of Terror?), Two Moon Junction is the tale of a gorgeous  blond, nubile, southern bell named April (played by the supernaturally gorgeous, Sherilyn Fenn of Twin Peaks fame) who is being married off in a kind of arranged marriage to some white bread, yuppie guy mere weeks after they both graduated from their posh, exclusive deep fried southern university.

April lives in a world where everything is white. The houses, the walls, the clothes, the cars, and just about the entire populace. With the exception of the hired help who are all black. Did I mention this movie takes place in modern day 1988? Anyway, April is complacent in her little world of white privilege and arranged nuptials, but she ( of course) yearns for more as evidenced by a buck naked steamy shower at the exclusive gym where she reveals not only her remarkable and perfect bosom but a hidden peephole that leads over to the fella’s side of the showers that’s far too well hidden for us not to assume she hadn’t known about this thing from previous experience. It’s like that scene in Porky’s but in reverse and trying to sell it as a meaningful moment, when really, we just wanted to see some nekkid people. She takes a look at the swinging wang doodles, rubs her Raspberry pop-tart and the Circus comes to town. Literally.

Alice takes her tweenage sisters to the bargain basement traveling fair where she is hit on clunckily by a shirtless, greasy, pockmarked carny hunk by the name of…Perry. The guy is kind of a jerk but he is a hard working, blue collard muscle head  who wants to stick it to April so they exchange the obligatory sexy looks, Perry mocks her fiance, and thenPerry stalks her down and breaks into her house to take a shower while April’s family and fiance are away. Yes, he BREAKS INTO HER HOUSE and takes a shower. At first, April does what any human being with an ounce of smarts would do and threatens to call the cops. He counter-threatens to run out the front door nekkid.  What? She did ask him to leave, right? How is this a threat? Now she’ll have a free pair of smelly acid washed jeans!

Needless to say, after Perry mocks her lifestyle, busts out a video camera and talks a little dirty carny to her she’s just aching for this guy to shake her dust. It’s knees to the sky and the two embark on a whiny, manipulative, vapid, depressing love affair that will have you begging that these two just pull a Romeo and Juliet and end this damn thing.

Now, I am not saying the love scenes aren’t hot. Most of them are. And the ones that work are all due to the ravishing beauty that is Ms. Sherilyn Fenn. Sure, Ms. Fenn gets completely buck naked in Two Moon Junction, but she’s the kind of woman that you can look at fully clothed and still melt. Just look at her face and into those eyes. Hell, just look at her in Twin Peaks. The woman is in a sweater and a long skirt and she still just oozes temptation and sexuality.  She is, really, the only strength Two Moon Junction has. Sadly, she can’t get a bit of chemistry going with her leading carny, Perry, played with very little lunk-head charm by the meaty Richard Tyson. He looks like a romance novel cover come to life and is just about as fulfilling and cliche ridden as the novel itself. Long story short (too late) the guy stinks.

Okay, now that I am thinking about it, the film has one other thing going for it. There are some seriously cute dogs hanging out with Perry. *SPOILER ALERT* Don’t get too attached to the first dog. Booze fueled angry carnies and defensive canines never ever mix. Ever. Especially in soft core porn.

So, does Alice go through with her marriage to her filthy rich, clean shaven white boy or does she choose the rugged, womanizing, bourbon swilling, unemployed carnival worker? Will Alice’s family execute Perry Creepshow style ( it’s hard to say he was a deer when he’s behind the wheel of a Mack Truck)? Will there be a sex scene in the film that doesn’t end with Sherilyn Fenn sobbing her eyes out (is this a turn on to someone? Hell, I’m sure it’s got to be.)? How does beating the hell out of a truck shut down the power to an entire carnival? Does Perry ever get his bourbon? You’ll just have to check out Full Moon Junction and see for yourself!

For whatever reason, I felt incredibly depressed when the movie was over. And I think the ending was …happy? I dunno. You kind of get the sense that Sherilyn was kind of uncomfortable doing this flick which she was told would be her big break. Nope, that came a couple years later thanks to David Lynch, Mark Frost, and the murder of Laura Palmer.  And she didn’t have to take a stitch of clothing off to prove her star power.

It’s a female driven southern sex fantasy with plenty of soft focus, oiled man chest, and unchecked lust, and naked women. There’s not a lot of joy to be had in the proceedings. None of the key players here ever seem entirely happy with any of the options their lives have. Even the ending seems questionable.  It’s the perfect sleazy, soft core movie date for you and that special trashy someone in your life. Especially if you love hearing your lover ray after you have sex.

Stay Trashy,

-The Primal Root

01
Dec
10

Samurai Cop: Six Essential Moments

By primalroot 2 Comments
Categories: Dirty Thoughts with The Primal Root
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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

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