Feature 04 – Hell Baby (2013)

or “Jim Henson’s Parody Babies”

Featuring: Rob “Hot Tub Time Machine” Corddry , Leslie “Wristcutters: A Love Story” Bibb , Keegan Michael “Key & Peele” Key

Written & Directed By: Robert Ben “Balls of Fury” Garrant & Thomas “Reno 911!” Lennon

Origin: USA


“It’s like Banksy with knives and face tattoos.”

By the Bearded Clam of Isis (or, for the ladies, the Bearded Marble Sack of Horus), today my biorhythms feel like they were composed by Robert Smith the day his favorite eyeliner fell in the toilet. I could use a laugh. This is gonna be one of those rare days where I review a comedy. A horror comedy, but a comedy still.

 I love skit comedy. I know it’s called “sketch comedy”, but I call it skit comedy. Cuz fuck you with Rick Rude’s AIDS infected zombie penis, that’s why… which is a joke only one other person will get, so hopefully he actually reads this… Rick Rude didn’t die of AIDS, he just looked like someone who would have. Anyway, “Saturday Night Live”, “Monty Python’s Flying Circus”, “The Whitest Kids U Know”, “The Kids in the Hall”, “Upright Citizens Brigade”. Each one uniquely brilliant and simultaneously hilarious. But, one of my favorite shows was an MTV production that I latched onto in junior high – “The State”. It was the jumping off point for the careers of amazingly talented & creative comedy folk like David Wain, Michael Ian Black, Kerri Kenney, Michael Showalter, Joe Lo Truglio, and Ken Marino. If not for the “The State”, you wouldn’t have great shows of recent years like “Superjail”, “Children’s Hospital”, “Burning Love”, or “Reno 911!”… and to a lesser extent (but I still loved ’em), “Viva Variety” and “Stella”. You also wouldn’t have fantastic “State flicks” like Wet Hot American Summer , Balls of Fury, or The Ten. Fuck you, Balls of Fury was amazing. Shut your gob, ya knob.

 Speaking of “State flicks”, today’s movie comes to us by two of those bastions of bizarre brilliance: Thomas Lennon and Robert Ben Garrant. Uninitiated might know them better as Dangle and Junior from “Reno 911!”, aka “bicycle shorts and the little guy in the vest”. When I heard Lennon and Garrant’s name attached to Hell Baby, I thought it sounded better than $240 worth of pudding and immediately declared my intention to… DIP MY BALLS IN IT!… “State” jokes… fuck you some more! GO WATCH “THE STATE”!

 Soon-to-be parents of twins, Jack and Vanessa (she pees a lot), are moving into their dream home… if their dreams were NWA videos shot in the ghettoist ghetto in New Orleans. Hoping to DIY the dump into a gentrificationer’s dream, they learn from their neighbor F’resnel (Keegan-Michael Key) that said structure is known by the locals by such colorful noms de infamy as The House of Blood, The House of the Lost, Place Where the Dead Never Rest, The Spooky Old Place Down the Way, The House on the Edge of the Park, The Last House on the Left, House Party 3, and The House House… those last four were mine, of course.

Almost immediately, Vanessa starts acting strange, which she attributes to “pregnant mommy brain”, which happens to be reason #37 of why I’m never having kids. The mental illness of motherhood doesn’t explain why a big ominous rottweiler starts casing the property, nor why a naked hag looking like Henrietta Knowby is poaching on Jack’s trouser snake, nor why Jack finds a ’70s porno mag in the basement with a cover girl who looks mysteriously like Vanessa in a “horny little devil” costume, nor… nor… sorry, I just like to say the word nor. Heh heh, “nor”.

Vanessa’s sister Marjorie joins the cast to bless the house that hood rat Satan built. She’s a hippie dippie spiritualist, so naturally “blessing” the place consists of having an herbal smoke circle in the attic that does nothing but make everybody paranoid and impair their driving abilities. 420 has no effect on the 666! Lucifer’s all about expanding your mind, man! Puff puff pass, share the Devil’s grass! Forget the rank and file, just smoke up with Belial! If things are going wrong, just hit Ol’ Scratch’s bong! There’s no need for frownies when Beelzebub’s bakin’ the brownies! Even dirt buds are nice when you’re tokin’ with the Antichrist! You’ll never run out of spleef when your pipe bears the mark of the Beast! Sell your soul to the Deceiver for that sweet sweet reefer! Burn some Acapulco Gold alongside the Serpent of Old!

Sorry, but this is gonna be a shorter-than-normal review, and I had to fill space somehow. I was gonna go into a whole tirade about my dream to open a Chinese restaurant slash opium den slash whore house called The Wanton Wonton (“Where all your vice come with fried rice!”), but one sentence is about all that gag warrants… and that was the sentence… so I guess I got to use both. Yay.

Back to our movie, you can’t have a devil/hell/possession movie without a man of the cloth or two, and Hell Baby‘s come in the shape of two chain smoking, tough guy priests straight outta Compton, errr, the Vatican – former Spanish bullfighter Father Padrigo (Lennon) and former Italian street performer Father Sebastian (Garrant). Teamed with a pair of local cops (“Human Giant”’s Rob Huebel and Paul Scheer), the Pope’s holy hitmen need to halt the birthing of the Antichrist… or Antichrists?!

And that’s pretty much it. That’s the movie. When you’re making a parody, you sacrifice story for jokes, and just rattling off all of the movie’s jokes here would make for a piss poor review. Not because the jokes are piss poor, just because having a joke described to you isn’t nearly as good as experiencing the joke. A man walks into a bar. OUCH! Get it? Instead of walking into a drinking establishment, I’m saying that the man in question actually walked headlong into a steel bar, thus injuring himself. See? Not nearly as funny.

The (very small) cast is a who’s who of “Hey! It’s that guy from that Comedy Central stand-up special!” guys. Though I didn’t think Corddry was interesting enough to play lead, his “perpetually confused/awkward, but pretending he’s not” comedic visage works to his advantage, especially during the movie’s comically uncomfortable scenes. Everybody else does their thing, and are fortunate enough to have smaller roles, cuz I don’t think any of them could carry a lead role much better. They’re suited to these bite-sizers. Too much of a good thing tends to get you sick. Except for the cases of Michael Ian Black and David Wain, who get one scene and one voice mail respectively. Yep, Wain doesn’t even make it in front of the camera!

Back to those uncomfortable scenes, they’re easily the best parts of the movie. Nothing in the movie could qualify as a “gut buster” moment but those scenes, namely a REALLY awkward one between Jack and Marjorie (I won’t spoil it here), are the cream of this proverbial crop. Also, you know how some comedies take a scene and run it into the ground? Like, they refuse to end it because they think that if they draw it out further and further and further, it’ll be funny, then unfunny, then funny again? You know how those scenes ALWAYS SUCK? Not here. That’s another thing Garrant and Lennon write well. Specifically the introduction of the Fathers where they’re discussing a particularly gruesome scene from their last exorcism, and the little “wrap up” scene at the very end. Also, scenes of people eating. You’ll see what I mean if you watch it. These are where the former State-smen shine, but the rest could use a little polish… PUN! :::rimshot:::

Sadly, there were a lot of jokes that you can see from a mile away, and some running gags that fell flat on their proverbial faces. More busted noses than Sylvester Stallone, Mickey Rourke, and Randy Couture Eskimo kissing. It’s possible that Garrant and Lennon are going for some kind of DOUBLE parody here. Instead of just doing a straight up riff on baby antichrist movies, they actually created a parody of horror parody movies. Maybe the jokes are all obvious and stretched beyond their humor retention limits because THAT is the joke. If that is the case… sorry, it’s still not funny. In fact, thinking of Hell Baby in those terms just makes it all feel more “shooting over everybody’s heads” than witty. Blart.

I guess what I was hoping for going into this was something with more energy and gags like Scary Movie, only written a lot better and without leaving that taste of shame vomit on your soul when it’s over. I probably should’ve realized that when you’ve only got 1/8th of the “The State”’s writing staff, you’re only getting about 1/8th of the the laughs… and the the eye creatures… no, that one was an MST3K reference. But, expectations are the fault of the individual, not the movie. Either way, I still can’t bring myself to give Hell Baby better than a 3, and even that’s more because I just don’t feel it’s bad enough to warrant a 2. Consider it a spiritual 2 ½.

And that’s my review. Because I’m Anubis and you’re the reader and I’m outtaaaaa heeeeeeeeeeeeeeere… nothing?! ARGH! FUCK YOU WITH THE SHINING FINGER! GO WATCH “THE STATE”, YOU FILTH WALLOWING PLEBIAN! BLAAAAAAAAART!

 Moral of the Story: Hugs are legally enforced in the city of New Orleans, ghost dogs don’t poop (I’m sure Forest Whitaker would disagree), and if you ever find yourself riddled with bullets, be sure you get patched up by Italian nurses. Actual Italians though, not Italian-Americans. I-tams’ll probably just steal your wallet.


Leatherface’s vacation home for Jazz Fest.

“Fuck you, honkeys! If yo’ movie ain’t got no Wayans brothers in it, we don’t give a SHIT!”

“I swear to you, Your Excellency. This boy couldn’t have been more than 8 or 9 years old, but he felt THIS big!”

I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to apply fingernail polish with the little brushes that come in the bottle lids.

Yeah, I have the same reaction every time I see a grown man wearing damn OshKosh. Is he going as one of Dexys Midnight Runners for Halloween?! B’Gosh… B’fucking Gosh…

“Sir, we have a few questions we’d like to ask. For starters, have you seen a small gold ring with a strange inscription in the area? Secondly, WHERE’S MY PRECIOUS YOU FILTHY HOBBITSES?!?!”

Shouldn’t she be locked in somebody’s fruit cellar?

The only thing that bothers me about this picture is why the dime store Ron Jeremy’s wearing a single roller skate… what the fuck!?

Come on. Unless you’re some idiot tourist from the heartland, you know you’d want to do the exact same thing to those friggin’ “living statues”.

“Louisiana Cable”? I’m guessing the only channels they carry are the ones that show redneck child beauty pageants, hillbilly cooking shows (meth, moonshine, AND roadkill), Monday Night Gator Wrasslin’, and reruns of “Girls Gone Wild: Mardi Gras Mammaries”.

Awwwww yeah! A little something for the ladies!… and about 12% of the guys.

THIS is why you don’t assume you can do your own “at home” birth. They’re messy shit.

Anubis will return next time in
“Jim Henson’s Rob Zombie’s Rosemary’s Baby’s Babies”

Enjoy the review? Hate the review? Have a movie you’d like to see judged in The Tomb? Fill out the feedback form! Never has it been easier to make contact with a deitic being!

All materials found within this review are the intellectual properties and opinions of the original writer. The Tomb of Anubis claims no responsibility for the views expressed in this review, but we do lay a copyright claim on it beeyotch, so don’t steal from this shit or we’ll have to go all Farmer Vincent on your silly asses. © October 1st 2013 and beyond, not to be reproduced in any way without the express written consent of the reviewer and The Tomb of Anubis, or pain of a physical and legal nature will follow. Touch not lest ye be touched.

Sunday (Without God) and AoD… 2?

So, today I started watching the anime series “Sunday Without God” on hulu. The concept is pretty damn interesting – god fucked up and heaven is overbooked, so he shutters the gates and tells everybody left on Earth, “Good luck with that, fuckers. I’m out.” The dead don’t die, they just continue to walk around while their bodies stop thriving, basically becoming decaying flesh golems. Their brains still work on a technical level, but they start to revert to their primitive state, so humans devolve into little better than animals after a period of time. The only way to kill them are a group graced as god’s “Gravediggers”, who put bodies to rest in the ground with their ornate shovels (which also end up being used as weapons more often than not) and send their souls on to heaven… cuz, I guess they’re working on an expansion and can only take a minute number of new occupants in the meantime? Meh, whatever. Like I said, damn interesting concept. So far the show itself is pretty much what you’d expect from a Japanese cartoon – cute little optimist girl who shows way too much leg while trying to figure out her veiled past, discovering a world altogether new to her, meeting a diverse group of new friends, and have her life constantly threatened by dangers no normal 12 year old could survive. I don’t know if I’ll keep watching past episode 4, but give it a quick look yourself if it sounds at all interesting to you.

Also, just learned that Sam Raimi and Bruce Campbell have finally agree to do a new Evil Dead movie. Apparently it’ll be a sequel to Army of Darkness called, for now, Army of Darkness 2. It’s planned to lead into a 3rd AoD movie that will actually bridge Ash’s continuum with that of the Evil Dead reboot universe. Good? Bad? END OF THE WORLD?! Tell me what you think!

The Running Mate

So, Ahnold Schwarzenegger, the man who went on camera and told the world that he loves bodybuilding so much that he equated it to shooting his steroid saturated jizz all over the place in a biological blitzkrieg, wants to run for president, in DEFIANCE of the whole “only people born in the US can run for Big Boss” law. I mean, yeah, he’s killed beaten a Predator and he was the only man to survive The Running Man, but even if he were elected by the public as some kind of independent, wouldn’t he just get tossed in jail for breaking the law!? I don’t fucking know. If Jesse Ventura wusses out and doesn’t for the big prize himself, he could totally run as VP on Ahnold’s ticket with the Ain’t Got Time To Bleed Party.

Feature 03 – Karate-Robo Zaborgar (2011)

or “Super Robot Adjective Excitement Perversion Display!”

Starring: Yasushisa “Engine Squadron Go-onger” Furuhara , Itsuji “Death Note: the Last Name” Itao , Akira “Ace Attorney” Emoto

Director & Writer: Noboru “The Machine Girl” Iguchi

Origin: Japan


“I’ll grind your ambitions into dust!”

Here at The Tomb of Anubis, I strive to give you pièce de résistance AND tour de force. I also like to drop a little bit of knowledge for my audience from time to time with these reviews. Sometimes it’s a little trivial “Hey, at least you know a little more now than you did 10 minutes ago” bit of bonus content. Other times it’s a semi-necessary paragraph or two to help everybody better understand the movie’s content. I can’t guarantee that ALL of these tutoring sessions are about legit info, because I gotta keep you guys on your toes… also, I’m a pathological liar. None of these movies actually exist. I’m also not sorry about my deception, because I’m a sociopath… actually, that’s a lie too. My pet turtle died recently and I cried about it on and off for a good 2-3 hours. Not a sociopathic tendency. I AM a Death God though. And the God of Embalming. I’m licensed and everything. I had to start reviewing movies on the side because the embalming biz has been suffering in recent years due to so many people opting for cremation. It’s become so popular that Nestle has started buying up peoples’ ashes for their new product: Carnation© Creamations! The no-fuss breakfast shake that fuels your body (with someone else’s) when you’re “on the go”! Grandma would’ve wanted it this way…

Sorry about that. My focus issues are a thing of legend. I once stopped mid-embalming for the 4th Dynasty Pharaoh Snefru to make a sandwich and ended up getting sucked into a marathon of “Ramses and the Crocodile” on the Nile Network and… well… let’s just say he didn’t have an open sarcophagus funeral.

Today’s movie traces its roots back almost 40 years to an obscure Japanese tokusatsu TV series called “Denjin Zaborger” (don’t ask me why the ‘e’ is now an ‘a’… LANGUAGE!). What’s a tokusatsu? Well, “tokusatsu” also happens to be today’s vocabulary word! Put on your learning pants!… or any pants. Really. There might be kids watching.

Tokusatsu (toe-ku-sott-sue) – known as “Toku” for short; the literal English translation is “special filming”; a genre of live-action TV series or movie (most commonly of the sci-fi variety) that relies heavily on special effects to tell its story; can be broken down into several subgenres – daikaiju (giant monsters), kyodai (giant heroes), sentai (task force heroes), henshin (transforming heroes), heroines (female heroes), and metal (cyborg/robot heroes).

Denjin Zaborger” kinda treads the line between metal and henshin, because though it followed the exploits of a human hero “special agent” (named Yutaka Daimon), the main attraction and title came from his robot sidekick Zaborger, who, while made of metal (a mysterious [i.e. fake] metal called Daimonium), also transformed into the hero’s means of conveyance – a motorcycle… with his big robot face right on the front. He was pretty much the basis for Scooter from “Go-Bots”, only without bombarding me with the insatiable urge to slash his tires and piss in his gas tank. Man, fuck you Scooter. Speaking of Go-Bots, what the hell was up with Leader-1’s eyes?! Was he wearing goggles to keep out the sun glare? Was it a yellow Zorro mask to keep his identity as a giant transforming robot secret?! Jeezus.

The movie sticks with the basic themes of the show. Yutaka Daimon (Yasuhisa Furuhara) is a special agent for the Tokyo Police (sans Gore). He’s a karate master, so he can do the usual movie shit like punch holes in concrete, catch bullets shot at him with his bare hands, leap 30 feet through the air, and withstand small atomic blasts with little more than some singed nose hairs and minor nipple chafing. Yutaka used to have a twin brother, but little no-name died of a mysterious illness (possibly caused by consuming man-breast milk… ewwww) while they were still swaddling mini-people. With his brother snuggling in a dirt crib, his mom corpsed up from a complicated birthing, and his dad losing himself in his work with the mysterious (lot of mystery going on here) material known as Diamonium, teenage Yutaka put all of his angry hormonal angsty angst into his training and eventually perfected his signature attack: the Flying Dragon Triple Kick!… which comes with white rice, egg roll, and your choice of soup or soda. And no, that’s not a mildly racist instance of me confusing Chinese and Japanese culture. It’s a joke about how the hero’s big attack sounds like something you’d find under the Chef’s Specials section of the menu at Golden Palace. 😛

Meanwhile, Dr. Daimon’s former associate turned evil cyborg geezer founder of the android criminal organization Sigma, Dr. Akunomiya, wanting to turn the secrets of Daimonium’s power to turn anything it touches into a robot to his own nefarious causes, kidnapped Poppa D. The good (but terribly neglectful) doctor suffered the torments of fat, ugly, shirtless robo men rather than give up his prized discovery, and eventually chose instead to leap to his death from Sigma’s flying castle fortress base of operations… the bottom of which looks like a giant ass. Coincidentally enough, this all took place within eye shot of Yutaka’s new home at the karate combat monastery, so our hero was forced to watch his own father fall a few thousand feet to his death… or would have, had Akunomiya not laser blasted the shit out of the descending Daimon like some kind of clay pigeon meat bag. Total vaporization. You know how they say matter can neither be created nor destroyed? I’m pretty sure that doesn’t apply here. THAT’s how overkilled he was.

Witnessing his daddy’s death, Yutaka swears a life of revenge upon the fiends of Sigma. Returning to the old man’s lab, he finds a message from dear dead dad LITERALLY playing on a projector for him when he arrives. Telling Yutie not to be a whiny little bitch for the rest of his life and tasking him with taking down Sigma himself, the reel also reveals Dr. Daimon’s ultimate creation – the transforming robot motorcycle hero Zaborgar! And to make it all creepy? Zaborgar is powered by the DNA of Yutty’s STILL nameless baby corpse of a brother… Not that creepy, you say? Look at it this way: you ever ride a motorcycle and get an unintended boner/squishy going? Now, imagine if the vibrating thing you’re straddling that’s giving you said arousal is your dead infant sibling’s carcass. Like I said, CREEPY.

Donning his Canadian combat tuxedo (denim pants and vest) and the big red motorcycle helmet with which he gives his robot battle brother his orders, Yuts has battled the denizens of Sigma ever since. Akunomiya’s big plot is to combine Daimonium with the DNA of various big wig Japanese political figures to create a giant robot monstrosity be calls Jumbo Mecha. You’d think collecting politician DNA would be as simple as creating a small army of cyborg prostitutes in school girl uniforms (*wink*wink*), but Akunomiya’s apparently not as slyly perverted as I am. Instead he uses Daimonium to create a council of bumbling misogynist gangsters (whose purpose is never really made clear), a man hating female cyborg named Miss Borg (more on her in a minute), and a legion of really random and bizarre robo monsters that range from a suit of samurai armor with giant lips for a face (for kissing the DNA out of people and imploding their skulls in the process) to a humanoid ant that shoots acid from its mouth and butt (appropriately named “Diarrhea Robot”) to a trio of bikini girls in football helmets with weaponized dinosaur titties (and butts) to a big nightmarish thing that can only be described as what would happen if a giant robot bulldog impregnated a UPS truck, resulting in “Bulldog Car Robot”. The first time I watched this movie, it was 3am and I was very ill. I woke up the next morning fairly sure that I’d hallucinated the whole thing. Upon re-watching it for the sake of this review, I was both relieved and terrified that all of these things had actually happened.

Back to Miss Borg, her DNA material was taken from a heartbroken woman who was dumped by her boyfriend shortly before (or perhaps causing?) her death. As such, she’s a man hater of the militant caliber, deeming all men as spineless, deceitful, shitbags. She’s got the Super Deluxe Premium Hotshot package of extras too, including a detachable rocket head, stun gun antennae, electro-whip, mouth snake (pretty sure that’s a pleasure attachment), and multi-purpose robo attack bra that includes boobular rockets and French tickler tentacle swarms. In other words, if they made an action figure series based on this movie (which it was absolutely made for), she’d be the one with more features than you could list on the box. It’d make $50 for an 8” piece of plastic full of choking hazards seem reasonable. Throw in a voice chip of her weird Japanese ghost lady laugh and I’m sold!

As for her place on the Sigma totem, MB is Doc Aku’s heavy and the leader of his DNA extraction task force. But, more often than not she ends up being beaten with an electrified rod as punishment for her frequent failures due to Yuti-Fruiti’s meddling. Sigma’s bumbling council, being he-man woman haters, naturally do not get along with Miss Borg and constantly assault her or make their own attempts to foul up her missions. They only solidify her disgust with those who pee standing up, which drives her into the arms of Mr. Chivalry… also known as Yutaka. In an attempt to give Borgia an edge against the good guys, Aku gives her a be-boobed transforming fighting robot motorbike accessory of her own – Black Hawk! Not to be confused with failed ’80s action show icon Street Hawk. Awwww yeah! “Street Hawk” reference in your FACE! *HIGHEST OF FIVES*-

The tag teams rumble, and amidst the breasticle bombs, robo-panties, flying kicks, and sexual tension, MB and Yuts end up smacking lips. Giving in to their throbbing bio-mechanical urges, they run off to screw in a beach-side hobo cave, where our hero loses his robo virginity (at the ripe old age of 22) in a bizarre flurry of screaming and metal tentacles and electrocution and oral serpent bludgeoning. It’s actually not as weird as it sounds. I fucked a toaster oven during one lost weekend and it went down pretty much the same. Like a very special episode of “The Jetsons” written by Irvine Welsh under possession by the ghost of the Marquis de Sade. Not recommended for anyone who hasn’t fantasized about affixing a fork to their genitals and sticking it into an electrical outlet at some point.

…by Isis’s vibrator, I’m oversharing like this is a Howard Stern interview.

After getting his dick wet (with 10W-30), Yuti’s dalliance with deviance is walked in on by his little bro-bot in a moment of sibling awkwardness. Should Z be happy that big brother’s finally getting some, walk away and leave them to it? Should he chew out his big brother right there for sleeping with the enemy? Should he just not say a word (not that he can talk anyway), play some Marvin Gay through his head speakers, and slip in between them freak style like it’s no big deal? Borg looks like she might be the “fingercuffs” type… Anyway, this naturally causes a rift between the Daimon brothers. And to turn this poo drizzle into a full blown diarrhea tsunami, recent issues with a corrupt politician named Watasugi (Yutaka kinda karate chopped him in the face for being a dickbag… while the guy was laid up in a hospital bed following a Sigma attack) have not only gotten Yutaka suspended from the police force, but also earned him an arrest-on-sight order. Blinded by boner love for Miss Borg, and wearing prescription strength hate glasses at the bullshit politics that have put him on the wrong side of the justice system he’s fought so passionately to uphold, our hero seriously considers an offer by Doc Aku to join Sigma… and I just realized that “Doc Aku” sounds like an intense Japanese guy saying “Doc Ockoo”. To the PhotoShop!

“Doc Ock-uuuuuuuuu!”

The turmoil results in yet another tumultuous tussle as Sigma snatches up a bevy of politicians. When the police intervene and try to take down Miss Borg, lovestruck Yatta-Tat-Tat orders Zaborgar to turn ’em into bacon. Z defies his brother’s orders, displays free will for the first time ever, and stands down against the boys in blue, opting instead to go after Borg while Yats does his own dirty work, throwing down with the 5-0. Wielding his bro mad-on like a rocket launcher of jealousy, Zaborgar kamikazes himself and takes Miss Borg with him, leaving nothing in the explosion’s wake but Yat’s regret, sadness, and blue balls. Also known as my dating life in high school.

So ends chapter one (entitled “Fight!! Karate-Robo Zaborgar!”), and so begins chapter two (“Hang in there Daimon! Adrift on the Sea of Life!”). This is pretty much where I’m gonna wrap things up. I’ve got shit to do. Death God shit. Shit that may or may not include sending threatening emails to NetFlix for suggesting I watch a Korn concert video. It may not be possible to punch a video streaming service, but I swear on the Eye of Horus I’m going to try my damnedest.

For the rest of our feature we fast forward 25 years into the future. Yutaka is now 47 (and played by much older actor Itsuji Itao), and still wearing the exact same outfit he thought was cool at half his age, fingerless gloves and all. Since his little brother’s suicide bombing and the subsequent death of his first (and only) lover, the special forces wing of the police department that employed him has been de-funded and disbanded, and the only job he’s been able to hold has been as that dick cheddar Watasugi’s chauffeur so he could humiliate the hero for the rest of his life. Watasugi, who has been Japan’s prime minister for the last two and a half decades, and turned the country into a nuclear eyesore thanks to his ties with… wait for it… Sigma. Yep, Doc Aku’s still kickin’. And after 25+ years of abducting prominent figures and pilfering their genetic material (repeatedly saying “DNA” just makes me think of jizz), Jumbo Mecha is on the verge of completion!

With all of his previous mecha monster minions all scrap and crap, Doc Aku’s got two new creations under his employ – cyborg schoolgirl Akiko (who will also serve as Jumbo Mecha’s brain) and perpetual “Japanese scene boy” Akitsuki, who’s a hell of a martial artist and Black Hawk’s new driver. But, he can’t drive Black Hawk! That’s a girl bike! I mean, it’s literally female! It has boobs and a skirt and it’s back tire doubles as its thing! Gross. You’ll never catch me on a girl bike… unless it’s just ’80s Barbara Crampton on all fours with little wheels clutched between her hands and feet going “vroom vroom”. Oooooo, would I put my dipstick in her oil tank. Hubba hubba!

As if life couldn’t get less worth living for Yuts than it’s become, Watasugi has finally had enough of demeaning our protagonist these many years, and fires the poor schlub for NOT running over an old lady in a crosswalk. Now, unemployed and forced to move in with his former amigos from the police force (whose lives have all become just as terrible, if not worse, despite forming the League of Smiles), it doesn’t look like our diabetic, nigh-quinquagenarian good guy is gonna have the gusto to save the world from the forces of automaton evil when his Flying Dragon Triple Kick is limper than his old man dong. But, the good guy’s gotta win somehow, right? Maybe with the help of the grinning might of the League of Smiles!? And what of Zaborgar? Can he really be gone for good, given that it’s his friggin’ name in the title?! Find out when you watch Karate-Robo Zaborgar!

Or don’t. I’m not gonna make you. I’ve got a pizza on the way and don’t have time to Clockwork Orange your ass right now.

With the right video filters, you’d have no idea this wasn’t a ’70s tv show the likes of which the material it’s based on. And not just because the budgets are probably comparable. No, it’s because said basis is that fucking loyal to the source material. Just by watching the end credits reel of footage from the show, you see where everything in the movie came from and how much love for it the minds behind the movie are radiating. I’m not going into specifics (again, pizza and punching NetFlix), but if you watch the movie and sit through the credits, see what I’m referring to. The super appropriate music and sound effects just drive the point home further. A lot of the movie is so over-the-top, it makes the actual Over the Top look like Schindler’s List. If you don’t like a “crazy as bird dicks” movie, you shouldn’t watch this, because it is the definition of “crazy as bird dicks”… that fart exploding rainbows… which make you simultaneously shed a tear and smack yourself in the head.

I had no idea what “Denjin Zaborger” was before this movie. I’ve yet to see it after this movie. But I am a fan of it in spite of this truth. I’m rarely a fan of things I see, let alone of anything sight unseen, but I’m a fan of “Denjin Zaborger” because 35 years after its broadcast, Karate-Robo Zaborgar is the result. Unfortunately, the only version of the show I could find was a DVD set on Amazon that the seller wanted $200 for… can I start a Kickstarter for something like that? Would 40 people pony us $5 each to help me get that set if I promised to review it?! Or, how about 10 people pony up $20 each, then I’ll burn everybody copies?! Shit, I totally need to look into this Kickstarter thing now.

After researching the show, I’m really hoping someone makes another Zaborgar flick too. Either a sequel with a new hero taking up the denim and partnering with Zaborgar, or an “alternate universe” movie, the type of which Japanese serieses are fond of. My solitary reason for wanting this to happen? Later in the show, there was a new enemy faction revealed called The Dinosaur Army, who get only a brief breastatorial reference in this movie. This group (a second evil faction looking to take out their sole competition in Sigma), was led by a sinister tri-cranial dino boss named Triple Neck Demon… THAT IS MY WHOLE REASON FOR WISHING THIS WOULD-BE MOVIE INTO EXISTENCE! I WANT A MOVIE WITH A VILLAIN NAMED “TRIPLE NECK DEMON”! Shit, I’m so aghast by the moniker, I’ve looked into legally changing my name to Triple Neck Demon. Another subject for another Kickstarter? I think maybe yes. Only problem is gonna be going back through all those fucking hieroglyphs and painting the extra heads on all of my pictures…

Anyway, if you’re in the mood for something crazy (and have 2hrs to kill), I recommend KRZ. I found it on NetFlix (who may or may not be suffering from a punchening), so start your search there. It’s not perfect. It overstays its welcome by about 25 minutes. Also, even I have my limits for how Japanese something can get. But, it takes me back to the days of my childhood, when the cartoons were little more than 20 minute commercials for toys padded with 10 minutes of actual commercials for toys, and there were 2-3 hours of them every afternoon, followed by another 4-5 hours on Saturdays. It was rampant consumerist brainwashing of children by today’s standards, but as one of the brainwashed, it was great being a drooling vegetable when you had a Battle Damage Skeletor in your hands and said drool tasted like Orange Kool-Aid.

The Moral of the Story: “Women can’t know love until we ruin those around us.”
– “I can’t handle anything abstract right now!”


That dude in the back is either shooting eye daggers at Beardo, or eye penises. Maybe penis daggers? Yeah, that’s definitely a hate-fuck gaze.

Lady Slug and her Gardeners of Doom! Their arch-enemies? The Human Salt Shaker and The Brisk Pace Walker!

In the future, Fleshlight production will be taken over by Japanese Skynet. They will evolve. The machines will win.

The Japanese Village People!

“Get off your knees. When I said my head could use a good polishing, I meant the metal half of my face. I replaced my penis with a nail gun years ago.”

You can hardly tell they’re twins.

GAH! I see somebody’s also watched “Family Guy“! GAH! GAAAAAAAAH!

It’s a lot funnier not to explain this one. Just look at it. LOOK AT IT!

Well, it’s good to know that at least one of the Big Bad Beetleborgs can still find work.

“Taco Bell’s new HOTTER fire sauce really lives up to its name!”

The new UPS trucks do a great job of scaring off unruly dogs.

Somebody’s taking the whole “bombshell” thing a little too literally.

“Though I appreciate your aggressive stance on helping me maintain my personal hygiene, your pimple removal methods are a bit too extreme for me.”

Finally, a Japanese production that has the female fucking someone else with tentacles rather than being fucked by them! It’s a bright new day for women’s equality in the Land of the Rising Sun!

Sorry Japan, but the Lingerie Football League made a mockery of female athletes before this.

After decades of being destroyed by giant reptiles and insects and tinker toys, you knew it was just a matter of time before a giant rampaging cosplayer on her cell phone was going to do the same.

“Evil? FUCK EVIL! What is evil in the face of… THE LEAGUE OF SMILES?!”

Anubis will return next time in
“Jim Henson’s Parody Babies”

Enjoy the review? Hate the review? Have a movie you’d like to see judged in The Tomb? Fill out the feedback form! Never has it been easier to make contact with a deitic being!

All materials found within this review are the intellectual properties and opinions of the original writer. The Tomb of Anubis claims no responsibility for the views expressed in this review, but we do lay a copyright claim on it beeyotch, so don’t steal from this shit or we’ll have to go all Farmer Vincent on your silly asses. © October 1st 2013 and beyond, not to be reproduced in any way without the express written consent of the reviewer and The Tomb of Anubis, or pain of a physical and legal nature will follow. Touch not lest ye be touched.

Feature 02 – Branded (2012)

or “Business Is My Business and Business Is Good… BUSINESS!”

Starring: Ed “The Pianist” Stoppard , Leelee “Joy Ride” Sobieksi
& Jeffrey “Saturday the 14th” Tambor

Directors & Writers: Jamie Bradshaw & Aleksander Duleryan

Origin: USA/Russia


“It used to be the brands were formed from peoples’ desires. Now it’s the people who are being formed according to the desires of the brands!”

Did you know that, when played backwards at ¼ speed and amplified through a paper towel tube, the popular music song “Band On the Run” contains a repeated line of seeming gibberish? When that gibberish is run through Google’s translation program, first from “German to Icelandic” then “Icelandic to French” then “French to Portuguese” then given to a linguistics professor hallucinating on Absinthe to translate into Colonial American English, the rough result is “Beware Paul McCartney’s army of darkness”. Though most think this to be a warning heralding the End of Days by Sir Paul and an endless horde of unholy supernatural forces, it’s a common misinterpretation. The true translation is “Buy Paul McCartney’s armoires of dark woods”. That’s right, “Band On the Run” is, in actuality, a subliminal advertisement for Paul McCartney’s line of handcrafted cherry wood furniture. They’re beautifully made, sturdy enough to survive an F4 tornado, and heavy enough to crush any masked lunatic who might force their way into your home or office! And this marketing method? Brilliant. Speaking of marketing, let’s review Branded!

As much as I make it my policy not to spoil movies under the 5 year moratorium, I may have to spoil a bit more of Branded than some would like. It’s a fairly complex movie, and taking you from part to part without telling you how exactly we make the progression might just lead to more confusion than entertainment. And in the end, that’s really why I’m here: to entertain you. I’m certainly not here to entertain myself by talking about the movie because, in the words of Columbia (Rocky Horror), “Ha! I’ve seen it!”. I’m also not writing “SPOILER ALERT!” before every key plot point I divulge, so either gird your loins or go watch the movie before you read this. Made your decision? Good. Let’s proceed. Keep your hands in the car at all times. Do not stand up once the ride has gone into motion. Spit out any gum, chewing tobacco, or other potential choking hazards now, as we are not responsible for any fatalities that may occur as a result of rider negligence. Children, pregnant women, people with heart conditions, and the elderly should not be on this ride, so if you’re already here, well, tough shit cuz we’re not stopping it now!

Oh, and don’t misunderstand the title. I thought it sounded like some kind of cowboy version of Hostel too. It’s not that kind of “branded”. It’s a business movie about the powers of marketing.

Wait! I promise it’s not boring!

As a young British immigrant boy in Communist Russia (where Lenin created the idea of marketing via the very branding of Communism), our hero Misha fell asleep one night while waiting in a bread line. During his slumber he was visited in a dream by some strange deity resembling a cow-shaped star constellation. Upon waking from the dream, he was immediately struck down by lightning… FUCKING LIGHTNING! Being the most metal kid in the world, Misha wakes up from Mother Nature’s mighty sucker punch to find the rest of the line jockeys looking on in a combination of shock and not wanting to lose their respective places in said line. An old woman finally comes to his aid though, and portends that little Mish-Mash is gonna have a very “interesting” life. No shit! If he can keep from going into frequent epileptic seizures and wearing his underwear outside of his pants, do you know how much ass a guy who survived being hit by lightning will get in his lifetime?! MAD ASS! Mad. In math terms, that’s at least in the high 30s.

Anyway, to paraphrase that old lady, so begins one of the more “interesting” movies I’ve seen in recent years. Misha grows up (and is now Ed Stoppard) to discover he has a talent for manipulation, or as the white collar class calls it, “marketing”. Upon graduating from college with an all but useless degree in history, and with Communism proving to be a failed experiment amidst the previously united soviets, Misha decided to use his born skill for appealing to the masses by founding his own one man marketing firm. Desperate enough to take mob money to do so, he finds himself in the “uncomfortable position” that everybody who borrows from money handlers of ill repute find themselves in sooner or later. There’s a reason they’re called “loan sharks” and not “cash guppies”. On the verge of getting a lead pipe enema, Mish lucks out when a rep of the US government named Bob (Jeffrey “George Bluth Sr.” Tambor) comes to him seeking someone to advertise for major US companies as they slip their lubed up corporate tentacles into the eager consumer holes of a populace ready to buy blue jeans, Springsteen cassettes, and Star Trek commemorative plates for something more affordable than black market mark-ups. There’s just one thing that Bob asks in return for this exclusive big money contract – a little espionage. Yep, Bob’s bosses in the CIA want Mish to unearth dirt on his countrymen like a proverbial Killdozer-for-hire. In other words, Misha trades one deal with a devil for a contract with another.

As an aside (cuz random tirades are my thing), I know a little something about marketing, myself. You know who the greatest marketing geniuses in history were? The Egyptians. By using a written language that was nothing but pictorials, Egyptians were able to create an advertising method that would maintain throughout the ages, long after their society was consumed by the sands. Seriously! What’s the one advertising method that spans all cultures and breaks the language barrier no matter where you are? Yep, visual medium. Early man tried the same thing with cave wall paintings, but we Egyptians truly mass marketed the idea, to the point that’s it’s one of the most prevalent themes even the most average of average joes think of when you ask them about Egypt. Tell me you don’t look at Egyptian hieroglyphs and get a strange urge to buy laundry detergent or frozen chicken wings. See? Toldja.

Back to our flick-of-the-day, Mish-Mash enjoys a few years of the high life, becoming a big wig in the advertising industry until he makes the cardinal mistake of dipping his pen in the company ink. And by “pen” I mean his ding dong, and by “company ink” I mean Bob’s niece Abby (Leelee So-barf-eski)’s poon pod. Abby’s producing one of those shitty “female beauty is determined by clothing and cosmetics manufacturers” reality shows (i.e. “The Swan”) wherein they convince an “overweight” woman to undergo an extensive series of surgical procedures to unearth the “attractive” person supposedly trapped and writhing for release from underneath her current meat suit of a body. While helping his new girlfriend choose the perfect candidate for said excuse for entertainment, Misha’s plugging of Abby’s baby hole is quickly discovered by Bob in a sitcomian moment or overly coincidental mishappery.thanks to one of those constant Moscow traffic jams. It’s like the LA of the steel curtain. What a country!

In my best attempt to avoid some significant spoilage here, let me just say that a bunch of shit goes horribly horribly wrong for the young, oddly faced, lovers. When I say shit, I mean “Ammut after she ate those laxative brownies I was saving for Seth’s birthday” levels of shit. Said fecal avalanche comes about thanks to a sinister ”marketing guru” named Joseph Pascal (Max von Sydow!), who’s hired by a collective of fast food barons to bring their profits way up by whatever means necessary… WHATEVER means… When the smoke clears from the ensuing debacle Abby winds up forced back to return to the States, Mish abuses his marketing super powers and goes into self-imposed exile over the guilt, and Bob… well… damn it, just watch the movie!

“Six Years Later”, ScAbby returns to the land of (yak) milk and honey (vodka), hunts down Mish-Mash, and finds him tending cows in the middle of nowhere. Being a modern girl, she’s not down on the idea of living with Mish 400 miles away from the nearest wifi source and taking her midnight dumps in a filthy outhouse, so love-of-her-life or no, she’s out of there. After her departure (you’re better off without her, dude), our hero has another weird-ass vision like he did as a lad. In this dream-within-a-dream, he’s told to build a sacrificial altar, find the cow in his herd whose fur glows red in the setting sun, slaughter it on said altar, then BURN the altar, before finally washing himself in the resultant ashes, then wandering off into a field to almost freeze to death. So, basically, he has his own Inception-alized Field of Dreams Screams moment. Shit’s getting’ complicated…

Mishy awakens from his vision quest in the backseat of CrAbby’s car. She went back to try and convince him to return to society one last time, but just kidnapped his unconscious body back to Moscow instead. What if he’d died in her car? Was she planning on having him stuffed so she could keep him forever? Now THAT would’ve been an interesting ending! Instead, we continue on and finally get to the crux of the flick when Misha sees freaky little creatures squirming out of BlAbby’s back. Not just pink elephants and plaid donkeys, but floating parasitic aliens from a circus clown’s fever dreams. Shaking off these living nightmares, we go on to discover Abb’s become a mommy and spawned a brat named Robert since parting ways with Misha… HIS brat… his FAT brat… cuz, you know, StAbby is one of those single moms who’d rather give their kid all the junk food and stupid shiny toys they want rather than have to argue with them and raise ‘em like a real parent. I’ve known a few single moms (and moms who might as well have been single), and at least when it comes to sons, they fold faster than an origami master on a cocaine binge.

While trying to deal with his status as an instant father (and how much the kid’s already been warped by his milksop mommy), mister protagonist sees more of those freaky beasties all around him. Thinking that his noodle’s been overcooked and he’s due for a straight jacket fitting, Mish soon realizes that these otherwise invisible monsters are actually influencing their hosts to indulge in consumerism. Know why little Fatty’s so fat? The deformed sock puppet stuck to his back makes him eat nothing but fast food, and causes him great discomfort if he doesn’t get it. And if you trace these Capitalist parasites back to their source? They’re spawned from GIANT versions of themselves that nest at the stores and eateries that birthed them! Burn down Wall Street! Occupy the strip malls! Kill Ronald McDonald! Insert additional rhetoric to get into hippie girls’ hemp undergarments here!

ShAbby isn’t down with her baby daddy’s insistence on perpetuating his psychosis (or pushing her to the ground in a moment of random hilarity), so she fucks off back to the US of A for a vacation with her butterball in tow, telling Misha not to be there when they get back. Left to his own devices, Mish-Mash decides that the only way to rid the world of these evil creatures and cure himself of these visions is to crush the scourge of Capitalism (that HE helped infest Russia with in the first place) by turning its strongest weapon against it: marketing. Good thing these crazy visions weren’t bestowed upon somebody who sucks at marketing, otherwise this movie would’ve been a lost cause real quick! Unless the hero was Pauly Shore, in which case he’d stumble upon some kind of lucky break, show us all that we should maintain faith is seemingly useless, dysfunctional stoners, and make the world a better place for people to talk like surfer dudes who wiped out on one too many coral reefs… is Pauly Shore still alive? He is. Okay… WHY?!

Despite being out of the game for a few years, Misha’s infamy as an advertising Great White still garners him a client eager to hire our marketing mercenary to make their vegetarian Chinese food restaurant a success in Moscow. Through an elaborate system of maneuvering and manipulation that would leave Gordon Gecko with jizz stains in his $5000 pants, Mish makes the restaurant chain the new czars of Russian fast food. By doing so, he also births them a corporate colossus of their own (a big green dragon), which immediately targets the iconic gargantua of their closest competitor, murderizing it like a Monster Island Curb Stomp. Of course, when you’re a big penis-shaped sock puppet clown balloon, you don’t have much of a chance against the talons and snapping jaws of a fucking DRAGON. Like Mecha-King Ghidorah overpowered on a dozen atomic bombs then descending on Varan… while his back is turned… and after a massive kaiju stroke took away the use of his arms and legs and tail… and he’s forced to spend the rest of his life in a huge wheelchair. Not a Mecha Wheelchair, mind you. Nor a wheelchair that transforms into Jet Jaguar, double mind you. Just a HUGE old wheelchair he found in a dumpster behind the Monster Island Retirement Home. Yeah.

Anyway. successful in his first step of ridding Mother Russia of the Western Scourge, our monster slaying beastmaster of the business world sets his sights on seeing his crusade to the end!

If the movie had just stopped here and set us up for a sequel, I would’ve given it a full grade point higher. I thought this was a perfect place to pump the brakes. Whether we actually got a sequel or not, THIS moment, of Misha standing triumphant over his first foe while a list of his remaining targets stands before him (and with BlandBland Snore-bieski out of the picture), made me want more! It really feels like that’s what it was meant to be made as! Instead, we actually get more, and the movie goes on for 15 more minutes. It works its way to an Occupy wet dream of an ending that just feels so damn “sell out” for such a supposedly “fight the power” flick. Almost like Branded fell victim to the infamous meddlings of the dreaded FOCUS GROUP. Bastards. But, you can’t sell your cause to would-be martyrs if they don’t think there’s a happy ending to the struggle, right? It’s like convincing suicide bombers that there’s some bullshit post-life reward, otherwise they wouldn’t be so eager to kill themselves if there weren’t pearly gates and fields of sex hungry bitches on the other side. Blart.

The Stuff. Now THERE was a brilliant little lampooning on the dangers of commercialism. Great movie. Michael Moriarty. Garrett Morris’s head melt-splodes. Fantastic. Branded has a similar message (in case you haven’t been paying attention), but it gets REALLY heavy-handed with that message. Like, Hellboy’s right hand heavy… cuz it’s made of stone… what the fuck do you mean you don’t know who Hellboy is?! Onto the shame bus with you. As for the rest of you, in addition to Bradshaw and Duleryan dropping their anti-business message on us with the subtlety of an Acme brand anvil (“If it’s Acme, it’s a gasser!”), that message kinda gets confused at the same time. It feels like one big “FUCK YOU!” to the brain washing manipulations of Capitalism, but then it makes sure to remind us repeatedly that branding and advertising was created by one of Communism’s biggest proponents, Vlad Lenin! So… is it pro-Communism and just anti-Lenin? Is it cool with Capitalism business, just anti-advertising? Is it okay with advertising, just anti-OVER advertising!? I don’t fucking get it.

As a message movie, it manages to be both blatant AND confused. As a movie movie, it draws a little long-in-the-tooth for the first 90 minutes, then packs way too much fudge into the final 15. Most critics complained about the low budget computerized mascot monsters. I don’t care. Their cheap-ass look lends them an oddly appropriate, distorted cartoonish look. I’m cool with it. Like I said, circus clown fever dreams. I’m also cool with Ed Stoppard. He’s oddly likeable. I should hate him because he has that doofy pretty boy look, but I don’t. He’s an affable chap. I hate Leelee Sobieski though. Hate her like the coffee table you’re always stubbing your toe on. She’s an imperfect clone of Helen Hunt, and I’m not a big fan of Double H to begin with. I’m not mad about her… not that anyone under 20 knows what the fuck that joke means. Either way, Leelee is Crapcrap and I wouldn’t miss her if she Dieddied. Jeffrey Tambor’s okay. If it’s not “Arrested Development’ or another Saturday the 14th sequel though, I’m not really paying attention. I gotta say, I did like the color composition of the movie. Some people are over the color saturation thing, but it kept my eyes happy. Thanks guys. Tighten your writing style a little and don’t let Mini-Hunt into anymore of your movies and I’ll gladly watch your next feature!

Then again, as Misha says, “We have been trained to love shit. We want shit and shit shit.” Maybe Branded is the 100+ minute wet fart that the critics say it is and I only like it because I’ve conditioned myself to expect the absolute shit of the shit to grace my TV screen. Maybe Branded is garbage and the only reason I like it is because it’s not Ice Spiders or Killjoy or Billy the Kid Vs. Dracula. Or, maybe fuck everybody else and Branded does something different and totally deserves acknowledgment of that. I say that it’s almost guaranteed to become a cult classic, either because the right people will gradually discover it (and each other) over time, or because enough of the wrong people will vocalize their dislike for it that the “I only like what regular people don’t” types (i.e. hipsters) will pick up on it and claim it for their own. I’m really hoping it’s the former rather than the latter, because the only people I hate more than those who dislike movies they’ve never even seen before, are those who like movies just because someone else doesn’t… and Nazis. In the words of Hellboy, “I hate Nazis!”. Two Hellboy references in a single review. Points for me!

One last thing before I go. Another musical secret. Do you know what happens when you play ANY Rob Zombie song at double speed? He sounds like one of the Chipmunks. Try it. It’s adorable. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go order some new furniture… OF DARKNESS!

The Moral of the Story: If you need more than 6 packets of ketchup for your burger and fries, stay the hell out of Russia.


That’s gotta be the most haphazard opening credits card I’ve ever seen… stellar cast though.

Bob’s face looks like Misha’s practicing his ventriloquist act on him… his hand’s in the guy’s butt is what I’m trying to say.

“I’m sorry you don’t like my face, but I have to keep up with my Helen Hunting in case they finally greenlight a ‘Mad About You’ prequel series!”

“I’m sorry ma’am, but as I’ve told you, I’m NOT an exorcist in real life! There’s nothing I can do for your daughter beyond an autographed Judge Dredd DVD!”

“I’m telling you, I never called the Yakov Smirnoff Hotline! I certainly didn’t spend 47 hours and $390 on it at that!”

Ouch. Looks like Jeffrey Tambor finally got around to watching the new “Arrested Development” series…

High Plains Hipster

That’s easily the laziest attempt at a Wicker Man recreation I’ve ever seen.

Somebody finally found the perfect lighting to shoot Leelee Sobieski in!

Abby finds out why Misha’s nickname is “Snowball”…

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve said that to a woman, I could retire from this whole reviewing thing.

Yeah, I don’t think Japan has anything to fear from Russia when it comes to the giant movie monster market.

Don’t stare at this picture too long before bed. Trust me. More night terrors than Tobe Hooper’s Night Terrors.

Protestors stormed McDonald’s corporate offices today, demanding that the fast food giant finally make the McRib a regular menu item. Ronald McDonald was violently dismembered. Hamburglar was lynched and subsequently burned alive. The Grimace is still missing…


Anubis will return next time in
“Super Robot Adjective Excitement Perversion Display!”

Enjoy the review? Hate the review? Have a movie you’d like to see judged in The Tomb? Fill out the feedback form! Never has it been easier to make contact with a deitic being!

All materials found within this review are the intellectual properties and opinions of the original writer. The Tomb of Anubis claims no responsibility for the views expressed in this review, but we do lay a copyright claim on it beeyotch, so don’t steal from this shit or we’ll have to go all Farmer Vincent on your silly asses. © October 1st 2013 and beyond, not to be reproduced in any way without the express written consent of the reviewer and The Tomb of Anubis, or pain of a physical and legal nature will follow. Touch not lest ye be touched.