Posts Tagged ‘school

25
Jun
16

(NSFW) The Teacher (1974) Too Cheeky

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“Well, come on in a minute… I’m not gonna rape you.” – Angel Tompkins as Diane Marshall in The Teacher

a Primal Root written review

Sexy, taboo, tawdry disturbing with just the right amount of putrid awfulness and sense of shame makes The Teacher (written and directed by Howard Avedis) unintentionally genius. The film is aware of it’s limitations, yet still manages to pull out all the stops and deliver a lowbrow, steamy, creepy chunk of sleazy entertainment that was, to my own amazement effectively erotic, which brought about by subtle, slow simmering means.

Most of the credit, if not all the credit, rest squarely on the capable, sensual shoulders of the ravishing Angel Tompkins (as The Teacher of the title, Mrs. Diane Marshall), but when you are effortlessly lovely and seductive as Ms. Tompkins’, all you need do is glance at local teenage rapscallion and it won’t be long before you have them eating out of your hand. there are many nuanced layers to this seedy, sexual creep fest. The most important of which involves a yellow slicker wearing psychotic stalker Vietnam war veteran named Ralph (played by excellent character actor, Anthony James, who turns the film’s most memorable performance.) who may or may not have been one of Diane’s early student/teacher sexual conquests and is now dangerously, murderously fixated upon her. I don’t believe this is ever made explicitly clear in the film, but Ralph’s doomed little brother, Lou (Rudy Harris Jr.) says his brother claims to have made the sign of double backed mud weasel with her at some point in the not too distant past. Ralph has a headquarters up int he top of a derelict building next to a dystopian marina where Diane parks her boat she somehow affords on a teacher’s salary in 1974. This boat’s primary purpose, it would seem, is for Diane to take it out in the harbor, about 500 yards from where she had it docked, take off her top and sun bath…while Ralph watches through the binoculars he keeps in his red velvet coffin up in his lair.

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And that’s how this whole sordid tale gets going, a pair of binoculars, a pair of sun baked boobs and a deeply disturbed Vietnam war veteran. Lou takes his best friend Sean (Jay North, that’s right, a slightly more grown up version of TV’s Dennis the Menace) to Ralph’s lair after the last day of school to take a peek at their teachers chesticles. As the gawk and stare, Ralph hides in the shadows, sneaks up behind the two unsuspecting high school students and scares the ever loving shit out of them. In fact, he scares his brother Lou so bad he falls of the roof and plummets to his death from the voyeuristic perch, where, from a bird’s eye view after he crunches to the pavement below, we can see blood pouring forth from what seems to be his denim clad asshole. Ralph freaks the fuck out and swears bloody, murderous revenge against Sean the innocent Sean for the murder of his brother. Of course, Sean shortly after become fuckmantically involved with Diane, which sends Ralph even deeper into super psycho homicidal behavior which makes for some very strange, very awkwardly funny and even somewhat affecting trash cinema moments.

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But, as you and I know, the opportunity to sexually experiment as a teenager with someone who looks like Angel Tompkins is an extreme rarity, so, despite the obvious liabilities to his young life, Sean loses his virginity and begins an illicit fuck buddy relationship with the seductive, easy as Sunday morning, Diane Marshall. However, I must acknowledge it took Sean a good amount of the film’s running time to get the courage to finally slip Diane the extra credit she’s been blatantly asking for ever since summer break begins. She seems to be after him in every scene they share together and he always brushes her off with is trademarked excuse, “I gotta go work on my van.” Pool parties, kitchen flirtations, laying around nekkid in the master bedroom asking him to kiss her sweet meat…okay, that last one didn’t ACTUALLY happen, but he does finally give into his desires, overcomes his fear of sex with a married woman who is ALSO his teacher, and they both love every damn second of the deep dicking.  However, as a viewer and a human being, the fact that it took this 18 year old boy so long to give in to his 28 year old teachers sexual temptation frustrated me as a sane human being. I mean, really, who cares if a deranged mad man with a saber and banana yellow rain jacket is out to slice you from groin to sternum and jump rope with a length of your shit filled intestines? All that beer drinking, fucking and frolicking are totally worth it in The Primal Root’s book. I say job well done, Sean! Life is fleeting, anyway. Go fuck your teacher, son.

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Oh, before I forget, Sean’s mother/pimp is played by none other than Miss Universe 1961, Marlene Schmidt, who quite a piece of Devil’s food cake, herself. She even has one of my favorite bizarre-o lines in the entire film as she chats bikini clad poolside with Diane, “I find him very attractive, even if he IS my son.” Man, not since Back to the Future has a film managed an Oedipal moment like that.

At the end of the day, Angel Tompkins really is what I take away from The Teacher. Well, that and an important lesson about never peeping on your teacher with binoculars of lunatics that live in rat infested demilitarized buildings near a pier. Angel is amply equipped and totally convincing in the roll of an experienced seductress. Someone who will stop at nothing until you drop your trousers and irrigate her soy bean field. Sure, she’s not an especially talented actress, but the lack of wardrobe does help take the edge off, but there’s no denying she is fucking stellar in the one moment when Sean admits in her and his parents that he was spying on her while she was nude sunbathing. Her satisfied, utterly aroused little smirk is goddamn lip smacking delicious. Ms. Tompkins seductively saunters from scene to scene with an unparalleled sense of self possession. It’s as if she’s seducing us as we watch, but that could just be me talking over the sound of my own raging boner.

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Anyway, The Teacher is a goddamn remarkable, low brow, trash cinema experience. It has enough  fun sex shenanigans to get your popcorn popping and a nice freakish mean streak to keep you wondering just where the fuck this batshit tale os sluts, psychos and dick brained teens is taking us. they sure as Hell don’t make ’em this sleazy anymore. The Teacher passes the test, every time, Gang.

I give The Teacher a solid 5 out of 5 Dumpster Nuggets. 90 minutes of playground love, Gang.

 

Stay Trashy!

-Root

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

19
Nov
13

The Pit aka: Teddy (1981) Boners, Food and Homicide; The Puberty Triple Threat

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a Primal Root written review

It’s high time we talked about “The Pit” aka: “Teddy”, one of the creepiest goddamn coming of age movies I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching.  The plot goes something like this; a young, mentally deranged teenage boy named Jamie (Sammy Snyders) with parents who apparently travel quite a bit and regularly leave poor Jamie in the care of attractive female twenty something year old psychology students.  And buy, does he burn through them.  See, Jamie is kind of a creeper. The extent to which this kid will go to express his love aka: raging hard-on for just about anything wearing a bra is pretty impressive. He even tries the old “I dropped my napkin” ruse at the dinner table when he’s being introduced to his summer caretaker, Sandy (Jeannie Elias). Of course, this scheme works a whole lot better when you don;t announce loudly “OH NO! I DROPPED MY NAPKIN!” and then lunge your whole body head-first under the table to gaze up a woman’s skirt and into the crotch fabric of their panties.

You'll wish he'd written "Redrum" when this is all over and done with.

You’ll wish he’d written “Redrum” when this is all over and done with.

But this is the least of Jamie’s issues. See, he also has a teddy bear he he talks to…and Teddy talks back, stoking young Jamie’s deviant behavior and offering up suggestions on how to be a more effective weirdo. Also, Jamie happens to know the location of an isolated pit deep in the woods populated by furry, malevolent, flesh eating creatures with glowing yellow eyes.  Teddy and the Tra-La-Logs (Why, oh, WHY is this not a band name?) are the two folks Jamie feels he can confide in. and it makes sense, seeing as everyone in the town seemingly loathes this kid. From the his teenage classmates who lovingly punch him in the face and pull humiliating pranks on him, to the Librarian lady who refuses his pervish advances, even the elderly woman in the retirement home down the street can’t stand Jamie and even predicts he’ll probably just grow up “to be one of those hippies!”

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No one understands me like the beasts on the edge of Hell.

So, yes, Jamie airs out all his issues with a the psychotic voice in his head he hears through the inanimate object named Teddy and a batch of vicious monsters living in a hole deep in the woods.  The Tra-La-Logs do not judge Jamie, they simply gnash their teeth, stare at him and drool as he explains the twisted thoughts of his diseased mind. Jamie grows to care a lot about these critters and Teddy hits upon the winning idea of starting to feed the little monsters! So, in between sessions of staring at Sandy’s bare breasts while she sleeps and faking kidnappings in order to snap some Polaroids of  Librarian next door’s  hush puppies, Jamie steals some of Sandy’s cash and buys a ton of hamburger meat and feeds it to the creatures in the woods.

That's a bad touch, Sandy.

That’s a bad touch, Sandy.

 

Of course, this can’t last, as Sandy catches on quickly to the fact her cash is vanishing quicker my singles at a strip club. Where can Jamie find a new, cheap source of meat for this ravaging, razor toothed, carnivorous creatures? Why, yes, tossing the screaming, soon to be devoured bodies of the people who have wronged you is completely valid option!  In a montage of great dark comedy, Jamie lures about a half dozen people to their untimely deaths including Sandy’s boyfriend who he tricks into the pit by throwing a football around with him and making the guy “go long”, which leads him right into the jaws of the enemy. Even better,  Jamie kidnaps the mean old lady from the retirement home, rolling her down the nature trail as she shrieks and waves her hands around in terror, and launches her into the pit where she is ripped to pieces.  I’m not kidding, I laughed so hard I farted.  this is prem-o stuff, Gang.

Suck it, Grandma!

Suck it, Grandma!

There’s even a slightly more profound moment where Jamie is about to roll a young girl into the pit who laughed at him while he was getting the snot beaten out of him.  “You sure are a pretty girl. But only on the outside. Inside you;re ugly and you will probably spend your whole life giggling at the pain of others.”  a pretty chilling statement about the nature of bullying and the violence it spawns. Treat people with kindness or you might find yourself the main course in gore drenched buffet of fury. Never mess with the kid who is rumored to be psychotic, he may just prove you right. It’s a moment I think all kids who were picked on can relate to. I think at some point we all wished we had a giant hole int he ground we could roll our tormentors into so we would never have to hear from them again.  I can see a little bit of wish fulfillment here.

D'Awwww...

D’Awwww…

After making the major miscalculation of actually showing Sandy the Tra-La-Longs down in their pit, she insists they bring out some scientists to check out the discovery when Jamie made her promise to keep them a secret, Jamie ends up accidentally pushing her into THE PIT where she is slowly ripped into meaty chunks and feasted upon by the ever hungry monsters. It might be the bloodies moment of the movie and works like gang busters and Sandy’s bright red entrails and slurped down and her bones and crunched to pieces by the terror of the Tra-La-Logs.  Jamie is traumatized by the death of someone he actually wants to put his penis in, and decides to throw a rope down the hole and let the creatures loose upon an unsuspecting public and, in the process, unleashes holy Hell upon the inhabitants of his little hamlet.

What follows is probably the most ineffective, yet still entertaining, sequence of “The Pit”. The movie takes the focus away from Jamie and, instead, focuses on the rampage of the Tra-La-Logs which are obviously nothing more than short people in furry suits running around the woods. Int he darkness of the pit the creatures came off as scary and mysterious, in the bright light of day they are laughable. Still, they manage to run about the rural area ripping young folks and big breasted teenage skinny dippers (one of which happens to be the director’s daughter) into finger food before a posse of angry, card carrying NRA locals track them back into their pit and blow into blood spattered shag carpeting.

Cut back to Jamie who is now headed to his grandparent’s farm to be taken care of for the rest of the summer, only this time he is not alone. His younger little lady cousin is there and they run off to go play together. It looks like Jamie has finally found a friend. Someone who is not sickened or terrified of his mere presence.  The sun is setting in the sky as the two children laugh and run off into the woods…only, they find something…another pit in the ground. Jamie knows all too well the horror that lies ahead. “They eat people…” he says. “I know.” She replies…

It's basically a prequel to "Ted"

It’s basically a prequel to “Ted”

“The Pit” is one very unique, sleazy, unusual and even disturbing little slice of forgotten horror gold.  It has the usual limitations you might expect from a low budget 80’s horror flick, but it still manages to pull off it’s concept for the majority of the running time. Sammy Snyders’ performance as the bizarre, creepy teenage killer is damned impressive. This is some very strange and often whacky material for a young actor to be performing, but the guy really gives his all and ends up giving a very believable and unsettling performance.  I’ve read interviews with the “The Pit” screenwriter Ian  Stuart and his disappointment in what was originally intended to be a much darker story with far fewer  flourishes of dark comedy. I understand what he’s saying, and I do wish that version could have been made, but the film we ended up with is still one pretty goddamn strange cinematic cocktail. From the bizarre sexual obsessions and oglings of Jamie, to the crew of bloodthirsty Hell beasts and the psychotic voices in Jamie’s head who transmit themselves through the boy’s Teddy bear, it’s one of those movies so peculiar it truly has to be seen to be believed.  I’d put it along side movies like “Tourist Trap” and “Pin”, movies that are damn strange and certainly effective, but lost and waiting to be rediscovered.

Three and a Half out of Five Dumpster Nuggets

Stay Trashy!

-Root

 

02
Aug
13

The Conjuring (2013): Home Ownership: a Cautionary Tale

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a Primal Root written review

edited by Bootsie Kidd

I’ve always loved a good ghost story. I was raised on the “Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark” anthology, watched Tobe Hooper’s  “Poltergeist” on a near constant loop, on the weekends talked my Mom into renting copies of  black and white classics like “The House on Haunted Hill” and “The Haunting”, and looked forward to the segments of TV’s Unsolved Mysteries featuring “true tales”  of the poor crackers who crossed paths with nocturnal spirits and ghastly apparitions.  The chills were plentiful, but as you grow up you realize just how cheesy a lot of this stuff can be, and it only really gets down to spooking you once it sinks in on a cerebral level much later… when you’re at home, going down that darkened hallway you’ve walked down countless times before  and your mind suddenly begins wondering what inexplicable, otherworldly presence could be lurking behind each door, just biding its time before it springs out and cause you to shit your pants, lose your grip on sanity, and keel over dead from cardiac arrest.

It’s been a long damn time since I’ve seen a movie about a haunting that has actually frightened me beyond the terror felt over wasting money on a movie that promised chills and delivered yawns and moderate chuckles at the lameness of it all. From “Paranormal Activity” and its endless sequels, “A Haunting in Connecticut”  to James Wans’ own “Dead Silence” and “Insidious”, they all just come across as either lazy and predictable or over the top, cheap student films.  I usually wind up joking with my viewing buddies and waiting for something to happen rather than having my pants scared off of me, a rare occurrence that always leaves me breathless and fellow viewers stunned, as I typically go commando.

Okay, where's the fire place?

Okay, where’s the fire place?

I’m getting side-tracked. Okay, “The Conjuring” begins on an creepy-enough note telling the tale of The Warrens’ encounter with what a group of roommates assume is a possessed doll from Hell going by the name of Annabelle. This thing looks like the aborted, fossilized remains of Bozo the Clown and post-face-tightening Nicole Kidman’s love child. Why in the world would ANY schmo would bring this doll home is beyond me. But hey! you get what you pay for, and the doll begins writing on the walls in blood-red crayon, seeming to running around the place on her own (although, unlike your favorite Good Guy and mine, we never get to see her scurry), leaving little love notes of “Miss me?” around the house to be found by the horrified occupants, and banging on doors so loudly your testicles would probably rise into your throat with abject terror.  Anyhoo, we never see these three moron roomies, again, and it’s on to establishing Ed and Lorriane Warren,  the real life team of hardcore paranormal investigators (portrayed by Patrick Wilson and the unfathomably lovely Vera Farmiga) just now decided their most terrifying tale of a supernatural encounter is ready for public consumption.  Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, they present to us, “The Conjuring.”  Ed and Lorraine are leading a pretty action-packed life, as they traverse the country ghostbusting, debunking red herrings as rusty pipes, and giving lectures while leaving their little daughter at home… with an entire stock of possessed and evil artifacts from their many ghost hunting expeditions. But don’t worry! These artifacts are locked behind a door, because nothing keeps the power of evil at bay like a bolted door… It also becomes apparent that Lorraine has in the not-too-distant past encountered something during one of their investigations that has shaken her to her very core. Something that her ever-loving husband, Ed, concerned about bringing his highly sensitive telepathic wife into the ghost hunting fold again.

I get this reaction frequently when women look into my trousers.

I get this reaction frequently when women look into my trousers.

To be honest, the story of ‘The Conjuring” is a pretty well-worn tale. A couple and their herd of children (in this instance, all little women) decide to relocate to a beautiful, rural fixer-upper that they purchased for a steal, in the bygone days before full-disclosure was a legal necessity and this particular home’s blood-spattered, demonic, psycho-bitch history was kind of left out of conversation.  The family is loving, always smiling, and ready to play games at the drop of a dime. It might sound like a trite Hallmark card, but as a viewer, I couldn’t help but genuinely like this family. Sweet people brought to life by some very talented folks; Lila Taylor as Carolyn, the sweet, southern, ice tea Mother of the clan, and Ron Livingston as Roger (yes, of Office Space fame) as the hard-working, average dope Dad.  On their first night in their new home they experience a few minor disturbances, many of which we might encounter in our own home from time to time, but, ultimately, nothing too serious occurs. Besides finding a boarded-up, dusty, creepy old basement under the stairs. Everyone is super happy about the discovery (YAY! MORE SQUARE FOOTAGE!) but things very quickly go to Hell as whatever was tucked down in the basement is now roaming around the house offing the family pooch and playing chilling games with every member of the family. Also, a Burtonesque, antique music box happens to present itself right next to an ancient, gnarly oak tree in the back yard.  One of the daughters adopts it, and (que Amityville horror score) unleashes her new imaginary best friend! Her buddy can only be glimpsed in the mirror of the music box once the music within finishes playing. It’s a story we’ve heard and seen countless times before, but to my own shock and amazement, filmmaker James Wan (“Insidious”, “Dead Silence”, “Saw”) uses a slow, old school pace and a nice, subtle touch to really let the suspense and dread sink into the viewer.  I was genuinely impressed that James Wan has grown up so much as a director. Make a few more films as intensively creepy as “The Conjuring”, and I might just become a fan!

This would make a damn fine place to hide my porn!

This would make a damn fine place to hide my porn from my wife and our half a dozen daughters!

Some deeply disturbing incidences start to occur in their new  home. The utmost of which involves one of the young daughters seeing something in the darkness behind her bedroom door which, really, might be one of the most horrifying and suspenseful sequences I’ve experienced in a movie theater in years (not a drop of blood spilt, no score, all acting and cinematography). Finally, Carolyn heads to a community college where The Warrens are lecturing, and literally begs them to come check out their own private House on Haunted Hill. The Warrens, initially skeptic, and not-a-little ghost-worn grudgingly but compassionately agree to check it out.  Dressed in their Mod Squad 1971 ensembles, and looking quite fetchingly groovy, the two step into the house and instantly know this place is a deadly death trap of death.  Lorraine has visions, Ed gets nervous, and the once the two investigate the history of the house, whose past tenants were all possessed child murdering evil-doers all in the wake of the original tenant, a witch who, to get in good with The Dark One, sacrificed babies to Satan, and ended up hanging herself from said gnarly oak tree in the backyard… Like I said days pre-total disclosure realtor ethics.

Of course, The Warrens take the case, and decide to rescue the family and exorcise the house of whatever evil is present there.

You smell something?

You smell something?

“The Conjuring” is really the best of both worlds as far a supernatural horror flick is concerned. The first half is expertly crafted horror in which the audience is left holding on to the edge of their seat, completely at the mercy of the increasingly crafty James Wan. The story he is unfolding, waiting for the beast to finally show itself.  And, much to my delight, Wan keeps us guessing and waiting for most of ‘The Conjuring”‘s run time, allowing it to effectively chill our bones and build a truly sinister house of cards around us.  Then, once the other shoe drops, we find ourselves in the eye of an ever-mounting storm of blood, horror, and chaos that, in a lesser film, would probably come off as disenchantingly goofy. Here, however, we have grown to appreciate every one of our central characters so that, once the proverbial ghost shit hits the fan, our pulse rises and we are actually fearful for our new kin. Keeping in mind that the haunted house genre relies heavily on people being too lame-brained to get out of the house the second disturbing shit starts befalling everyone in the family, but this is coming from a guy (and an audience) raised on horror and its tropes. A family in 1971, plagued by this steadily-rising level of creepy encounters might just try and explain things away until things got so bad they have to reach out for help. Plus, a family this size with only one working parent and all their money invested in this house on the edge of Hell hardly has the kind of money to be spending on stays at the local Motel 6.  I guess in most horror films you have to suspend your disbelief, but “The Conjuring” is such a goddamn great spookshow you won’t waste your time questioning such things as little girls are claiming to see creatures in the darkness and the simple clapping of hands send chills down your spine.

“The Conjuring” is by far and away the best horror flick I’ve seen in the theater so far in 2013. It plays it cool, takes its time, and before you know it, you’re sitting in your theater seat, heart thumping in your chest, awaiting the next horror show to befall this poor family and the heroic Warrens.  After the film was over, I found myself sitting with Bootsie Kidd totally worn out, as if stepping off a roller coaster. Both of us, catching our breath and totally awestruck by what we’d just seen. We chatted through the end credits which featured the effectively eerie score by Joseph Bishara, which rivals Lalo Schifrin’s timelessly nerve jangling score to “The Amityville Horror.” And then…we had to go home, where the evens I had seen on screen just minute prior suddenly weighed pretty heavily on my imagination. “The Conjuring” stayed with me long after I left the theater and if that’s not the mark of an effective horror film, I’m not sure what is.

Of course, this is the flick we see just as we begin looking to purchase a home together. Good timing! Jeez…

“The Conjuring” is a smartly executed , old school ghost story excellently told and well worth checking out. Hopfully it will be available to own once Halloween rolls around. 😉 I’m awarding this puppy FIVE out of FIVE Dumpster Nuggets. This one is a keeper!

Till next time,

Check your home’s history before moving in and Stay Trashy!

-Root

28
Aug
12

Uncle Grumpyfuk Remembers ‘The Sadist’

A Review by Uncle Grumpyfuk

Ahem,cough,cough,haaaack, fa-thoo!!! Aht-heh-hem…and I call to order to this month’s meeting of the fellowship of the Enormously-Endowed Blonde-haired Blue-eyed Vegan-Hatin’, Cop-Car Vandalizing, Chicken Hawk Purple Dragon Society of middle-upper Mississippi- otherwise known as ‘Big Brothers’, wink! I’d like to open with …hey! …SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LOUSY SCRODUM-SUCKERS, take her to one of your rooms if you can’t wait! There’s a large bottle of roofinal by the anchovy ambrosia …heh, boys WILL be boys! lol ..and.. a warm, sunny new day begins my friends! To one’s mind instantly spring the lyrics from that ‘classic’ (tragic!) animated movie(*), by that McCarthy-lovin’ finger-pointing rat-bastard whose head appropriately lies cracked and frost bitten in some innovative con artist’s fucking Igloo cooler!(**)

High high ho, it’s off to work you go,
so sell that snatch I need some scratch,
then on your feet and down the street,
high-ho, high-ho,high-ho, high-ho, high-ho,
it’s back to work you go,
so find a trick and work that dick,
stick up that ass and make it fast,
I need some dough to buy my grass,
High ho, high ho,high ho, high ho, high ho,
your flabby ass in tow,
go work those Spics and do your tricks,
pick up that pace or I’ll let that crazy-ass zombie-wannabe motherfucker eat your face,(***)
high ho, high ho, high ho,high ho…

(*)You know the ‘children’s classic’ I’m talking about, about the beautiful virtuous raven-haired, porcelin-skinned Queen who was tricked and murdered most foully by the devious and meddling runaway princess, with the help of the 7 gargantuan-choaded midgets she’d shacked up with and whored herself out to for their cooperation..that…that shameless young jezebel whom the Queen had adopted through the kind charity of her generous heart, who had given the little trollop everything in the world to make her happy- a brand new scrub-mop and shiny new pail, a sweet smelling oil rag and as much luxurious lye soap as any young maiden could have wanted, to clean the rancid piss-puddled floors of the dank and ancient castle, only to be betrayed in the end by the little walking yeast infection! Yes my friends, the filthy ungrateful peasantry, always conspiring against their superior and generous benefactors, ultimately dragging them down in a bloody fit of lice-ridden animal rage, invading their crystal palaces, fouling the pristine and sweetly-scented air with the gut-wrenching stench of breaded buffalo wings, 5-hour energy drinks and anything on the Hardees menu list you care to name, destroying all, leaving a bare and ravaged wasteland where once stood the lofty  towers and glittering accomplishments of their poor, former slave-masters. Typical liberals.

(**) Shit, I wish I’d thought of that ingenious scam – milking bereaving loved ones out of gobs of dough on a continual basis for lopping off the heads of their recently-croaked loved ones and tossing them into a dressed up Frigidaire for the fantasy of their being thawed in the future for something other than food! Ha! Fuck me it’s downright brilliant! I could be richer than Whitney Huston’s coke dealer, (ah it’s old news now,don’t even try) and be pissing on Walt Disney’s frozen and cracked fucking snitch-head every morning along with my hot chai and smoked mullet biscuits!!! Sometimes it almost seems like the shit-eating universe doesn’t appreciate you one little bit, you feelin’ me? Sigh,thanks.

(***) DAMN IT!!! I am so fucking beside myself, that should have been me eating that homeless dude’s face! That should have been ME!!! Now it’s old hat! Shit!!!
…yes sir, that’s what kind of beautiful Spring day it is today! why just listen to my cat and the neighbor’s fucking underneath their window! It makes you want to grab the digital camera and head down to Orlando to Nickelodeon Studios,yessir!
Well today we’re going to be reviewing another classic piece of cinematic wonder,few seem to know about this gem, makes you want to get a shotgun and ‘take ‘out’ one of their loved ones to teach’em a little lesson,you know what I mean? Heh-heh, just joking folks, there are much better reasons to do that. Wink! This month’s review is of the Arch Hall Jr. classic, “The Sadist” or ” My Nephew Timmy” – Heh, that’s a little inside joke folks, Timmy’s been in the Little/Big House since he was 7 for stabbing his 2nd grade teacher in the liver(*) with his No.2 Squidbilly pencil for not giving Tim a ‘B’ on his report card, and here he’d told that scumbag what would happen otherwise. People just don’t take young children seriously,you’d think a teacher would know better. Yep,after that and that series of pet mutilations -you all remember- from a while back, that bitch judge sent him to juvie until he became ‘of age’,but he’s gonna git her, don’t you worry folks! He’s been taught what to do! 😉 He aaalmost escaped last July damn it, would have made it if he’d smashed that prison guard fuck a few more times but,eager youth, he saw a cat at the edge of the woods and off he went like an arrow,what can you do? Ha, I miss that little scamp…aaanyway!
(*) I taught him that one,yes I did! That rascal always was a quick learner- nevermind what the teachers said about him! Just remember, ‘Right side – liver, makes the pecker quiver, left side’s the kidney, uh, …I don’t know, makes you want to move to Sydney.’ Hell I’m no fucking poet! Fuck you, he got the gist of it! Jesus Christ!

OK, I tend to digress a tad at times, excusem-fucking-wah! Ahem. Ok, the film begins with a pair of eyes, illuminated in the darkness and a chilling voice claims, “I will hurt them. I will make them suffer as I have suffered.” and we naturally assume it’s an episode of Biography featuring Mel Gibson or Andy Richter ,but you notice quickly the eyes aren’t the dark subhuman eyes of an Aussie criminal nor are they the repulsive, tiny evil porcine eyes of uh..Andy Richter , they are in fact the bright and maniacal peepers of our hero and the protagonist of this film Arch Hall Jr., son of Arch Hall Sr.(go figure!) who directed several films, trying unsuccessfully to make the fruit of his gonads a star. Such a waste that people just didn’t catch on – but homo sapiens suck each other’s crusty anal cauliflower so what a fucking surprise,right? Oi. The narrator explains that ‘a sadist is one of the most disruptive elements in society,taking pleasure in the enslavement and debasement of his fellow man.’, heh, and still we allow a group of them to play reruns of Kate and Allie without releasing our shared rage upon them. Fools.

 

Alternate poster art under the title ‘Sweet Baby Charlie’

The credits end and the first act opens with a sputtering old car pulling into an isolated junkyard/ repair shop out in the desert in the middle of nowhere, heh-heh-heh, perfect. Then we learn, how’s this for a sweet little touch- they’re all school teachers,eh-heh, eh-heh-heh-heh-heh! There are two men and a totally humpable ditsy blonde who really plays up the innocent virginal angle so that you just want to throw her down on all fours,rip that cheap Penny’s dress to shreds and attack that ol’ browneye like a rabid gibbon, and then you know what comes next! That’s right, tea with lemon. Ha, some tissues for the ladies usher, those panties are dripping already! Whoo! As Courtney Love once sang,and that’s using the term loosely; ”Oo-oooh that smell!”( ‘…is grossing me out, someone hit my yawning box with some freaking Lysol already!’) Anyway, teachers, heh, priceless,but this is a childrens’ educational film so you want to make it fun for the kiddies, right? Sure we do! 🙂

 
The older male member of our endangered educators looks like Eugene Levy’s dad so we’ll call him Papa Jewb, get it? Ah-ha-ha-ha!! …hey,that’s a Hills Have Eyes refference you lousy racist fucks! What is this world coming to people? Fucking Pollacks. Now, the younger macho teacher looks like a llama so we’ll call him Crunchy, and we’ll refer to the porkable female math teacher as Bjork who also has that similar rimmable quality, and because we’d also like to throw Bjork down on all fours and..but I repeat myself. How do you say “I am so very sore!” in Martian, or wherever that shrieking imp comes from? Anyway, the trio looks around for the proprietors but can’t seem to locate anyone, and we’re allowed to see a clue they missed – the phone chord was torn out of the wall, known as step 3 to the knowing. 😉 After searching they decide to find a spare part,fix the car and leave the money on the table like good little school teachers. Snort,they’ve got it coming to them! ..but you know, that’s how it was back then, Uncle Grumpyfuk remembers, folks would leave their houses open and unlocked on a hot day, no ac back then unless you had money. You’d even leave the house like that when you went out to eat or somewhere because no one would break in and put your pets in the George Foreman Rotisserie Grill, to think of it nowadays, all of those unguarded plums,sitting ripe for the picking, just like after Katrina!! You sometimes start to drool just thinking about it.
After Crunchy finds a car with a compatible part Papa Jewb looks around in the house and finds still-warm meals on the table. He goes back to tell the others, then, we see a .45 auto being raised. Oh yes boys and girls, it’s party time. 😉

 

There, standing gun in hand is our hero of the film, Arch Hall Jr. and his ravishing and hauntingly silent girlfriend, the dark and mysterious Judy. Cash tells Crunchy to continue fixing the car and has a little fun spooking the trio with the .45, you know, just fucking with their heads a little. (wink!) He takes Papa Jewb’s wallet and gives him a little tap on the noggin for having so little cash, then Papa Jewb does a very foolish thing, he lets on that they’re all school teachers! Can you believe it?!? Bing bong, big wrong! In response Arch gives him a slightly more substantial tap on the noggin and smashes ol’ ‘teach’ a good one across the temple and down he goes. Little Jimmy would be so proud, someone just might find a pirated copy of this film in his Christmas stocking, to share with the other juvies! Ho,ho,ho!

 
Arch then does the Zombie Stomp on Bjork’s purse and hands it to Judy who gleefully rifles through it, the little cutie! Ah youth. Bjork asks for some water, pretending it’s for Papa Jewb (but she’s just thirsty) so Arch,after handing the pistol to Judy, gallantly escorts her to the well to fetch a pail of wah-ter. Bjork cops an attitude however so Arch dutifully casts her in the dirt and rubs her face around in it a little, you know, to teach her a little proper respect for a psychotic gun-weilding maniac, I mean jeez people, for educators these folks just ain’t too bright! Bjork, fortunately, responds quite favorably! Good to see a man who knows how to handle a woman with an attitude, and a woman who knows to stay in her place when put there – the shade of John Wayne smiles and continues to give the shade of Heath Ledger a good ol’ ‘cowpoke’,side-saddle…get it?!? Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Oh man I kill me…fuck I hope Tommy Morrison doesn’t!


At this point something simply must be said of Arch Hall Jr’s fantastic acting throughout. He plays the giggling psycho-killer just…just perfectly, like a true sociopath, and his leering and heckling of the trio is just superb! Bravisimo!!! ..and his laugh! His laugh has a truly wonderful unhinged quality like a mix of a young Bruce Dern, a moderately medicated Danny Bonaduce, and Butthead. (I made it my ringtone! I relish in the uncomfortable glances I receive. Life is fun!)
After returning to the others Crunchy commit’s another bungle in a long list of dumbass moves and lets on that he knows Arch is really Charlie Tibbs, a thrill killer on the run from the fuzz…remind me again how these people became teachers! Arch just about goes balistic when Judy whispers something to him and Arch turns his attention back to Papa Jewb, telling him to get down on his knees and we think woo-woo! ..but instead of the ‘purty mouth’ comment we’re expecting next Arch just starts to laugh and laugh with that great disturbed timbre, like that of a nasty disgusting retard who sees something it percieves as ‘funny’ ,like a phone book, or Mel Gibson reacting to that great bit about the 5 Kikes and the Mau-mau! (That IS a good one! “..so shove that up your fucking lemon tree Mustafa!” Ha-ha-ha! Mercy!

 
Anyway Arch informs the trembling teacher that his life is going to last no longer than the grape Nehi he’s gulping down. The guilty memories of a thousand confiscated love letters, pocket knives, small explosives and condoms rush forward in the mind of the helpless educator and it seems the cosmic whodawhatsits just isn’t playing ball with him today! Papa Jewb begs and wallows and crawls and sobs (I think he wallowed the best) in front of Arch and Judy,to their total amusement, just asking for it all the more. Meanwhile Bjork and Crunchy, limp with relief at not being chosen, play it up nonetheless. Arch offers the opportunity to take Papa Jewb’s place and they promptly tell him “Fuck that!” You can’t blame them, survival of the fittest,right! Then, the last sip, Nehi all gone! Uh-oh, Spagettios! ..and with sheer delight Arch plants some lead right between Papa Jewb’s eyes, point blank, and if you listen closely as his lifeless body hits the ground, he farts. Class dismissed..permanently! Pure hilarity! Once again, bra-vo! Crunchy and Bjork congradulate themselves.

 
While Arch and Judy chow down on some of the dead property owner’s pie and another Nehi, Bjork babbles on and on and Crunchy, realizing what a fucking ditz she is, inform her of the fact and of the additional fact that they are totally fucked. Crunchy then thinks of another inept plan and tries to get Arch to unwittingly let on how much ammo is left in his pistol, but detecting the ruse Arch goes one better, fires the gun then challenges Crunchy to attack, claiming the gun may be empty! Crunchy however tucks and chickens out,then Arch shows him the gun was out of ammo! Ha! That really had to singe Crunchy’s nut-sack hair, eh folks!

 
Suddenly the background silence is broken by the roar of two motorcycle engines and as Judy keeps guard Arch walks out front to find a pair of motorcycle cops. He plays it cool and bluffs them good, pretending to be a friend of the family, then Judy and Bjork start to fight over a bottle of Charlie and as the cops turn towards the ruckus Arch pulls out Mr. 45 and Bang!Bang! he takes them both out lickety split, easy as pie! ..and he’d just had some pie! Ha! Now that’s ironic comedy folks! He and Judy climb aboard the motorcycles and play and frolic over the dead bodies of the slain pigs, the little rapscallions!

 
They go back to the car and Arch tells Crunchy to continue fixing the pump. Bjork and Crunchy try helplessly to come up with a plan, they totally fail of course when back luck strikes! Crunchy manages to spray Arch in the eyes with some gas,dirty pool! He and Bjork take off like jackrabbits and, here’s the saddest part of the film, as Arch staggers around blindly firing he vaguely makes out a figure running up and shoots Judy! Fuck! No! Arch lets out a truly admirable scream of sorrow and primal rage and sets off to find the cursed couple and exact a Klingon’s revenge upon their mortal bodies. We can hardly wait!
Bjork meanwhile finds what she thinks is a possible refuge but stumbles upon the bloody corpses of the property owners and ‘Peow!’ makes like the friggin Roadrunner and takes off down the dirt road without a backward glance or thought for Crunchy’s sorry ass!


Crunchy’s luck isn’t so swell however and he finds himself cornered with Arch and Mr. 45,but as he raises his pistol to dispatch the pussy teacher the hammer falls on an empty chamber! Out of bullets! Crunch emits a bleat of fear and desperation and charges and we think “Arch, look out!” but Arch quickly reloads and plants two shots into the oncoming shmuck. As Crunchy lays dying and crying Arch smiles and puts three more slugs in him, ha-ha, yeah! Buh-bye Crunchy, we hardly cared to know ye. Two down, one to go!

Arch takes off after Bjork who leads him on a merry chase and you have to be impressed. She kicked off her shoes earlier and has been hauling ass all over the fucking desert barefooted and you think, shit, she might take to being thrown down on all fours and …you never know! Yep,it’s those quiet reserved types that turn into wanton animals when put in the proper environment, or chains! …like a rabid gibbon! Woo! She sprints all over the place with Arch hot on her heels suddenly he veers away from her path to intercept her when again, tragedy occurs! As he runs Arch falls into a concealed well which now seconds as a flop-house for diamondback rattlers! Oh no!!! Arch throws a shit-fit and tries to fight them off but to no avail as several sink their venomous fangs into his hide, he lets out one more agonized scream and succumbs to the poison while Bjork, hearing his cry, says “Fuck you Charlie!” (and his name IS Charlie, ha!) and heads down the road, once again just like the Roadrunner kids. Beep,beep! The End.

 

Let this story be a lesson about procrastination children, if Arch and Judy had simply slain Papa Jewb and Bjork right off  the bat, made Crunchy fix the car then killed him,they’d be off in another state with the car before the bodies were ever found, enjoying a much longer spree of mischeif, mayhem and murderlation! Don’t forget!

Ol’ Uncle Grumpyfuk is outta here kids, Saturday morning kiddie show time, as Pete Townsend wrote “The Kids Are All Right and The Little Boys Are Oh So Scrumptious!” Bye!

17
May
12

Gorotica: Coldcocked (1993)

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


07
Nov
10

Joy of Sex or High School Hymen Hijinks

a Primal Root review

Man, was there any place worse than high school? That scarring, disturbing hellish melting pot of awkwardness, hormones and stomach churning maliciousness that sticks with you and haunts your dreams the rest of your miserable life. Really, there have been only two entertainment incarnations that have ever done the experience justice. My So-Called Life and Oz.

I attended high school in the declining days of the 1990’s. Limp Bizkit was causing teenagers across the nation to start cutting into their own flesh with razors in hopes of drawing the pain to their bodies as opposed to their souls as some ape-man shit nookie into their ears. This was the seed that lead to the emo  music wave in the naughties. And we all know how that turned out.

I am getting off track here, I went to high school in the 90’s so I have no idea what it was like in the 80’s.  But as it is portrayed in the 1984 stinker, Joy of Sex, it may have been just as bad. If not worse. It was a time where all you could do to entertain yourself  was super glue sexually suggestive items all over school and join the exclusive all male flatulence club, “The Blue Flamers” where you pile about eight guys into a midsized car and light your farts on fire. Yes, this scene is graphic and glorious and one young man nearly immolates himself asshole first. Yes, I did laugh out loud.

The title of the film in question, Joy of Sex, is possibly one of the most misleading I’ve come across in a while. You hear ‘Joy of Sex’ and you see a moderately attractive bikini clad woman on the VHS box and you assume you are in for a light hearted sex romp ala My Tutor or Porky’s. In actuality the whole film revolves around Leslie Hindenberg (Michelle Meyrink of The Outsiders and Revenge of the Nerds fame)  a  thirty something year old high school virgin. As is the tradition of most high school sex films she is on a deadline to get that mystical and precious cherry popped. But there’s a twist! Leslie went to get a mole on her chest checked out by her doctor whom she overhears talking about a plant dying within a couple weeks and she mistakes this as her diagnosis. So, now that we’ve established she’s an absolute moron her time table for getting fucked has just stepped up.

Despite the complete lack of sex in the film Joy of Sex it does manage to deliver in the comedy department on occasion. A good majority of the laughs are delivered by the obligatory foreign exchange student who pisses on Richard Nixon High School’s ( cover up the right letters and you get HARD ON High School! What a hoot!) principal, Mr. Porter (played by a bald Ernie Hudson who must have served as the inspiration behind Stranger’s with Candy’s Principal Blackman) and when presented with a stuffed beef heart by his American hosts, proclaims “Thank you for the shit!”

This is some very low level comedy, maybe I am an easy audience, because I laughed at all this stupid shit.

Christopher Lloyd also turns up in Joy of Sex as Leslie’s over protective gym teacher father. Sadly, he shows more skin than anyone else in this film when he strips down to a pair of  yellow bikini briefs. Of all the most unflattering underwear colors to choose from yellow is just a notch above brown.  I remeber Robert Zemeckis claiming on some Back to the Future special features that BTTFp3 was Christopher Lloyd’s first ever on screen kiss. This simply is not so. Not only does Lloyd get to make out with the lady playing his wife he also gets a blow job out of the deal. Not too bad, Emmet!

There’s no violence outside of an out of place graphic and bloody face plant on a padded mat during gym class and the nudity is almost non existant and kept to one pair of fleeting bare lady breasts as a woman flees down a hotel hallway. However, ladies get Doc Brown in his banana hammock along with some other guy and plenty of illustrations of cocks in various stages of erectness during sex education class. Which apparently lasted all year back in 80’s high school. Apparently you could graduate with a degree in dick studies.

Despite it’s shortcomings, flat jokes, lack of sex and/or nudity and failed attempts at conjuring up any honest human emotions, I recommend checking out Joy of Sex. It’s a terrible film. It’s bad but not any worse than the other thousands of teen sex comedies they hurled into theaters and video stores during the 80’s.

Does Leslie finally get some beef in her fajita? To be honest, I have no idea. The end credits start rolling before we ever get to see any action. Who the fuck made this movie?

So now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go practice lighting my farts so I may impress the ladies.

Stay Trashy.

-The Primal Root

 

17
Oct
09

The Primal Root’s Halloween Special Part 1: Jack-O

jacko

Hey Gang,

Being a huge fan of the Halloween season I decided to go ahead and make TWO episodes in celebration. In this first part we are examining the 1995 Florida made micro-budget Halloween horror opus, Jack-O.

The flick features copious barren suburban landscapes, a hilariously bad child actor, killer toasters, witch persecution, evil conservative stereotypes, a tragically lame haunted garage, tons of gratuitous nudity and one towering, scythe wielding, pumpkin headed demon from hell who goes by the name of Jack-O!

Jack-O is a wild, fun, unintentionally hilarious little flick. So kick back, pour yourself some apple cider and let’s take a look at a truly glorious piece of our Trash Cinema Heritage.

Stay Trashy,

-Root

<p><a href=”http://vimeo.com/85107964″>(NSFW) Jack-O (1995) The Primal Root’s Rotten Reviews Episode 6</a> from <a href=”http://vimeo.com/user24396091″>Kevin Cole</a> on <a href=”https://vimeo.com”>Vimeo</a&gt;.</p>




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