Feature 13 [Rerun] – Black Santa’s Revenge (2007)

or “Let’s Scare Megyn Kelly to Death!”


Featuring:  Ken “Dawn of the Dead” Foree , Todd “Metal Messiah” Robinson , Danny “‘Grimm‘” Bruno

Director & Writer:  David “Uncle Tom’s Apartment” Walker

Origin:  USA


Intro: Merry Cthulhumas! Or, if you’re one of those weird “alternative” religion types, Happy Non-Denominational Gift Exchange Day. As your gift this year, I’m taking us all to Gator World! In the meantime, I give you a stocking stuffer to hold you over: this review is the introductory feature to my concept of the “rerun” here in the new Tomb. While I won’t be importing most of my old stuff from the original site (saving those for the book[s]), and though I lost most of my prior works thanks to poor planning on my part and Yahoo purging inactive data storage accounts a few years ago, I still have access to plenty of my musings on bad movies made in this millennium. Since that’s the only real limit I’m holding myself to as far as reviews go for the new Tomb, I figured why not save myself some trouble on weeks I’m too burnt out or busy to write something new, re-edit these old articles, toss in “Intro” and “Xtro” (kudos to you if you get the joke there) sections, take some new screen shots, then *SPLORT!* we’ve got “reruns”! For you longtime fans, it’s a chance to re-live remnants of the glory days, and for those only familiar with my current crop of contemplations and condemnations, well shit, it’s new to you! If you like it, great! If not, you’re not paying anything to be here right now, so boo fuckin’ hoo you leech, don’t read ’em. Whatever your alignment on the matter, here comes some holiday boom boom in my rerun review for Black Santa’s Revenge!

It didn’t occur to me to rerun this review until two weeks ago when FUX “News” anti-personality megyn kelly (those lower case letters are not a typo, I promise) stated on the air that, not only are Santa Claus and Jesus Christ real, but they’re both white… she later gave us her best half-assed argument that the whole thing was a “joke”, but the seething manner with which she made her initial comment (in response to an editorial by Slate contributor Aisha Harris about making a race neutral Santa in the form of a penguin) is the only proof you need that she was genuinely flustered, likely offended at the idea of Santa being anything other than a white man… even though the original Saint Nicholas upon which much of the Santa myth was establish was a Turkish dude… a lot like how Jesus Christ was from the Middle East… so, believing that either historic figure was Caucasian displays a willful ignorance that makes my stomach churn and my fists clench. The same way they do whenever someone thinks the programming on FUX is actually “news” in anything but name only. News is the relaying of facts and information, not the vomiting, consumption, and re-vomiting of extremist opinions and ignorance smeared editorials. That entire cast of characters needs ethnic cleansing, then all of their parts should be broken down to their basic components and returned to the Earth so nature can start again.

Anyway, I thought there nothing better to make people like megyn kelly shit their granny panties with horror and disgust than BSR! Hence, our alternate episode title, “Let’s Scare Megyn Kelly to Death!”… in which her name is only capitalized because it’s being used in a title, and not due to any misguided sense that she deserves the respect of a “proper noun”. I just hope I used enough Reynold’s Wrap on my laptop while it was kept in storage to keep the freshness of funny and/or offensive in these old reviews. Oh well, I guess we’ll find out!

Original Review: I’ve always had a soft spot for Death Wish flicks. I’ve always taken an interest in Christmas themed bad movies. I’ve always enjoyed Ken Foree. Take these three and duct tape ’em together, wrap ’em up in a happy little bow, then plant the resultant triumvirate under the mistletoe and you get Black Santa’s Revenge: a tale of season’s beatings for the whole family to love!… provided everyone in your family is 18 or older and enjoys excessive violence.

This lovely little mess of holiday cheer was pointed out to me on the forum over at badmovies.org. Currently being shopped around in the hopes that St. Nicholas will bring its creators a Christmas contract to turn the short into a feature, I figured that buying a copy of the DVD will only help get Ken Foree that much closer to his next starring role. Was it money well spent? Well, that depends on two things: (1) If the crew gets the fundage to make their feature and (2) If Black Santa’s Revenge is even worth expanding beyond it’s 20 minutes running time.

Ken Foree (star of the original Dawn of the Dead and one of Rob Zombie’s cinematic entourage since The Devil’s Rejects) plays Black Santa; a dude who decks himself out in the red & white and sits his ass on a big leopard print throne each year so he can listen to poor kids ask him for commercially packaged happiness. Not your average mall Santa like the ass grabber in Elves, BS actually does the job as part of a charity group who passes donated toys on to the tots to bring them a little holiday cheer and hopefully keep them from becoming street statistics a little longer. It’s not going to be a very silent night this year though, as 2007’s big haul is hijacked by a quartet of lumpy thugs wielding shotguns, who lay out BS and Grinch the kids’ Christmas cheer! And what are the 5-0 gonna do about recovering the community center’s stolen merch? Jack and shit, and Jack’s off pinchin’ yule logs into Grandma’s figgy pudding. And so begins, that’s right, Black Santa’s Revenge! Yes, our feature has a title! In celebration, allow me to try and be a little creative with the next paragraph:

Laying out the look out and busting the thug’s nose,
Black Santa cocked his 12 gauge and into the air the honky blood rose!

He spoke a few one-liners and went straight to work,
exploding fools’ heads and ventilating each jerk!

The ruckus he caused resulted in such a clatter,
anybody left alive was severely assaulted and battered!

Through gritted teeth his vengeance gave a whistle,
as every motherfucker in the room was whipped with a pistol!

Black Santa takes a few shots but he’s not down for the count,
cuz that mofo keeps firing till his ammo’s run out!

Even with two slugs in his arms and losing blood fast,
Black Santa refused to stop kickin’ punk ass!

And from the streets of the ghetto to the columns of Stonehenge,
now all you kids know the story of Black Santa’s Revenge!

Yeah, I’m no Clement Clarke Moore, or even an Andrew Dice Clay, but I thought that was pretty good. As for the short itself, I really enjoyed it! There’s plenty of bloodshed, foul language and even a few tits here and there, plus it still carries this whole ho-ho-ho holiday happiness and “good guys beat the bad guys and Christmas is saved” stuff to keep it lighthearted and jolly. Could it be extended into a feature? I don’t know. Compressing it into 20 minutes works because there’s really no time for the audience to get bored with it and chances are it will leave the majority of viewers either content with it or wanting more. On the plus side though, as I said before, 90 minutes of Ken Foree is usually better than 20 minutes of Ken Foree, so if there’s ever a Black Santa feature and the man’s in the lead, I’m there.

Furthermore, despite a few budget restricted special effects moments where I had unpleasant flashbacks of Night Crawlers, I was really happy with writer-director David Walker’s work! The whole short is based on an original comic book of Walker’s and even without the obvious hint (“You look like you just came out of a comic book!”), the man’s use of black & white shots and scene transitions give BSR a very well done four-color feel. I’m still not 100% on whether it could be turned into a full-on movie, but if it’ll help Walker get noticed and give bad movie lovers a Ken Foree Christmas classic to break out every December, then by all means, it should be turned into a feature!

Xtro: Sadly, it looks like Black Santa’s Revenge: the Motion Picture isn’t likely to be realized any time soon, if at all… at least in this reality. Who knows, maybe in some other dimension along the cosmic wavelength the vibrations of existence varied just enough from our own that Ken Foree as a shabby Santa vigilante replaces Jim Carrey as the live-action Grinch (which rhymes with “pinch”, that stands for “loaf”, as in “of shit”) and became a celebrated annual classic to rival the likes of Rudolph!… well, Ernest Saves Christmas at least. Either way, in our existence Dave Walker wasn’t able to pull off the feat that Jason Eisener managed with Hobo With a Shotgun (the original short of which ALSO came out in 2007), despite my whopping contribution of $10-$20 that bought me the DVD (and some neat-o stickers!). But, given today’s new Kickstarter-centric world of crowd funded projects though, I’d never rule out the possibility for a Black Santa resurrection! I’m keeping my talons crossed.

Now, while megyn kelly and her cohorts at FUX Opinions have a Ku Klux Kinda Kristmas, to the rest of you I bid a “Happy HOLIDAYS”, kiddies! 😀

The Moral of the Story: Don’t dick with St. Nick! You try to piss in his cereal and he’ll carve out your bladder and make you use it as a sippy cup! Then he’ll rip out your intestines, use ’em to make sausages, then make you eat said sausages! Or, he’ll just feed you the business end of his shotgun. Whatever he’s got time for, really.


“The crazy lady on the news channel said you’re supposed to be white! Don’t tell me Jesus is black too! My daddy’s right, you damn minorities are stealing ALL the jobs!”

Damn! Look at that upholstery! Did Black Santa pick his throne up at Shaft’s garage sale!?

“I’m telling you, I got mugged by the fuckin’ Grinch! You think I got this hitting my head on the freezer door handle while drinking egg nog straight out of the carton?! Cuz I didn’t!”

Look at the guy in that picture on the wall! He’s WAY too excited about that dog! I bet he’s sporting a Yule log.

The less I know about “Toby Tingler”, how he got that name, or what the “Tripple Threat” is, the happier my holiday will be.

I see a certain ‘ho ‘ho ‘ho looking to bribe Santa for a few extra stuffers in her stocking this year… now I’m sporting a Yule log too.

Wow. How many pimps’ couches had to die to make that guy’s coat?!

Looks like I found my Cthulhumas card picture for next year!

The answer to, “What ever happened to Dave Coulier?”.

Every year the elves try to unionize and every year Santa has to “convince” them back to work. He should just save himself the bruises and spend a few bucks next year to hire some strike breakers.


Anubis will return next time in
“Heaven is Full of Naked People”

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 12 – Rare Exports (2010)

or “Santa Claus is Coming to KILL!”


Featuring: Onni Tommila , Jorma Tommila , Tommi Korpela

Director: Jalmari Helander

Writers: Jalmari Helander , Juuso Helander , Petri Jokiranta , Sami Parkkinen

Origin: Finland

Also Known As: Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale


“It’s Christmas time, so let’s act like it!”

Man, this holiday shit it exhausting. It took me 3 hours to program our singing Abdul Alhazred on the front lawn, I had to go to 4 different occult shops to find the proper spices for purifying our Cthulhumas ham, I had to dig through the mountains of boxes (of madness) to find our Necronomicon in the pocket dimension we use for storing our seasonal crap, and I fell straight on my hairy ebon ass while hanging the cephalopods over every doorway in the Tomb. And I still need to go out and get fresh entrails and strings of eyeballs for the Cthulhumas Tribute Tree! Times like this I wonder if it’s even worth praying to Cthulhu for another year of existence. Blart. Oh well. Nothing gets me back into the Cthulhumas mood like a holiday horror show, so let’s pop in Rare Exports and find out how to the Fins celebrate!

Based on the original 8 minute short Rare Exports Inc., about a trio of hunters tracking and capturing Santa Claus, director Jalmari Helander and his co-writer/brother Juuso multiply their interesting idea by The Gingerbread Principle, subtract the square root of egg nog, and bring everything to a rolling boil before letting simmer for 84 minutes, then serving hot as a full feature. Contains 100% of your daily allowance of peppermint schnaaps per serving – 7 servings per container. Serves 4 drunken dinner guests and 1 partridge with or without pear tree… wow, that turned into a mess almost immediately. Kids, never try to write stream-of-consciousness style when it’s 3am and half your consciousness went to bed without you an hour earlier. Rapid winter thaws can lead to flash flooding in low lying areas and those streams of consciousness can become white water rapids on the river to mental breakdown… what the duck am I even saying now?! Santa’s punishing me with a stocking full of writer’s block this year and trying to break the wall down is just leaving me with broken toes and fingers. Speaking of punishments doled out by twisted old sadists in red suits…

The American version of Santa is a very sterilized, Coca-Cola selling, holly-jolly grandpa polished up by marketing execs to sell, well, EVERYTHING in end-of-the-year consumer frenzies of greed and guilt, oiled with the tears of whining children and the seething resentment of grown ass adults whose inner child never grew out of their “gimme gimme gimme” phase. Our Santa is the marketing Viagra that would give Don Draper a boner big enough to fuck all of Madison Avenue long into the holiday twinkle of Christmas morning’s first light. But, as we learned last time on “Hangin’ with Mr. Anubis” during my review for Saint Nick, Father Christmas’s origins are of a much harder to market darker blend of torture, abuse, and punishment that would sell better in a sex dungeon than a Macy’s window.

When young Finnish child hero-to-be Pietari (whose name makes me picture a mass produced pie dessert-combination-gaming system produced by deceased video game manufacturers Atari) delves into the old myths of Santa Claus, he finds lots of disturbing tales of vicious old men and demons who would whip the flesh off of bad kids’ asses with switches, boil them in scalding cauldrons, or just chow down on the kiddies and grind their bones into bloody pulp between their jagged fangs before swallowing them whole. As noted in our previous episode, I much prefer the threatening coal-eyed penance monster that was to the rosy-cheeked philanthropic jelly belly that is, but that just means I’m probably better off remaining not-a-parent… though, if a pack of kids with jackal heads comes by here with bills for unpaid child support, you’ve been living here by yourself for over a year and you’ve never heard of me… or the landlord told you that I died in a fire and that’s how the space became available… either or.

As for why Pietari (I’m just gonna refer to him as “Peter” from here on out, otherwise video game consoles with flaky crusts and real fruit filling are going to haunt my attention span for the rest of this review) has such an interest in educating himself on Mr. Claus, it’s not so he can pursue an at-home degree in Santanomics from the University of Phoenix. See, Pete and his buddy Juuso had recently snuck out to an American excavation site in the nearby Korvanturi Mountains to see what all the noise was about. Eavesdropping at the most opportune of times to listen in for plot points, the lads overhead the project’s eccentric industrialist financier (who looks like Ebeneezer Scrooge by way of Dr. Caligari) excitedly proclaim his theory that Korvanturi isn’t a natural rock formation, but the world’s biggest burial mound for the ancient evil known as… Santa Claus.

Yep, according to local legend the man in red wasn’t just a punisher of misbehaved boys and girls, but a beast of unholy proportions who tormented the countryside, casting a very long shadow of terror and misery with him wherever he went. No longer willing to suffer the barbs of this barbaric vindicator of etiquette and morality, the people lured him out onto a lake where he fell through a trap in the ice, sank to the bottom, and was frozen in a massive block of frozen sin… not unlike Encino Man, buuuuuuuddy! I better watch out, or Santa’s gonna be beating my ass bloody after a few more of those.

Come summertime, after the rest of the land had thawed, the villagers gathered their freezer burned oppressor, encased him in sawdust, dirt, and stones, and left him to his tomb for thousands of years as the rest of Korvanturi formed around him. Now, this rich weirdo (who leaves his workers with explicit instructions to do “good” things like wash behind their ears for the rest of the excavation) has finally found Kringle’s Tomb and fully intends on exhuming the immortal man beast for… reasons never fully explained, really. I mean, maybe he’s gonna sell the remains to a museum? Clone Santa and ruin the fantasies of children the world over with villainous reality? Bring discipline back to the modern age and hopefully fear-beat the lazy selfish shit kids of today into the strong-backed leaders of tomorrow? Or maybe he just gets off to BDSM and plans to jerk himself into a blissful oblivion once the global spanking holocaust hits its frenzied pitch. No idea. Whatever the case, the old guy wants to dig up St. Nick. Just go with it.

Upon learning this, Pete and Juuso return home, having the all important “Santa talk” as Juuso is a few years older than Pete and has already learned the secret to killing your childhood. Pete doesn’t believe that Santa’s just some made up treat for children (and a seasonal mall job for unemployed alcoholics and child molesters), so he does the aforementioned research. What he lacks in internet access though he makes up for with an impressive library of books his dad happens to have on such topics (weird, right?), and our pint-sized protagonist learns the horrible truth about the child boiling cannibal known as Claus. Living now in abject terror every night that the figgy pudding loving fiend from Hell is not only back, but stalking the lad while he sleeps, Peter’s concerns are cast aside by his pissy dad Rauno, who hates that his son still has an imagination at the ripe of old age of… I don’t know… 8?

Whether she died or just left them, one way or the other Pete’s mom is not in the picture. In fact, NO females are in the picture oddly enough, as this is an all male cast. Anyway, this lack of a baby momma makes Rauno one of those overly stressed single dad types who needs to not only raise the boy to be tough and manly like himself, but also needs to keep the lights on, the toilet flowing, and their plates filled with gingerbread on little more than the money he makes as a freelance butcher. With the year’s reindeer herd ripe for capture though, Rauno and his fellow deer hunters (“Di-di Mao! Di-di Mao!”) plan to make a killing of the literal AND figurative kind with an $85,000 haul just in time for the holidays!

Man, I used to think those midgets who dress as elves and pass out jewelry store flyers had the most depressing thing you could possibly do for a paycheck at Christmas time, but I gotta say, “Rudolph butcher” may just be the new number one. Yikes… Well, unless you’re talking about butchering Rudolph Giuliani or Eric Rudolph, in which case, thanks for putting the “penis” into “happenis”!… What do you mean there’s no “penis” in “happenis”? I’m sorry, you’ve obvious never enjoyed a penis before and still spell it “happiness”. Get with the times, grandpa… unless you’re an actual grandpa, in which case you probably haven’t enjoyed your penis for years, and are exempt from this spelling revision.

Rauno and his hunting buddies end up getting a rude awakening upside their faces this year, when the massive herd they pegged their entire season’s income on ends up being a pair of malnourished bucks. Investigating the matter uncovers hundreds of slaughtered carcasses full of rotting meat that they blame on the Americans and ravenous Russian wolves for reasons that may be Pete and Juuso’s fault, involving wire cutters and a chain link fence around the perimeter of the excavation site. But Pete notices something in the snow amidst the bodies that he opts not to tell anyone else about: human footprints. When the men attempt to storm the Korvanturi work site in demand of restitution for their traumatic financial losses, they find the place an abandoned mess. It’s like something forced the crew to leave in a hurry… [cue the ominous dramatic music]

Christmas Eve soon comes, leading to an incredibly uncomfortable night between Peter and poppa where son basically asks dad repeatedly if he regrets conceiving him while dad awkwardly dodges the obvious “yes”. Convinced that St. Nick will be making off with him in the middle of the night for his part in dad’s financial apocalypse, Petey wishes Rauno what he’s sure is going to be his last “goodnight”, before retiring to bed to await Santa’s inevitable invasion, loaded rifle in his lap, dressed in hockey gear, and nodding off like a Norman Rockwell NRA Christmas card. Awwwwwwww.

Come Christmas morning, Rauno’s illegal wolf pit (just a tiger pit, but for wolves) he keeps in the backyard finds itself occupied by a new tenant. Seems some naked old homeless man with a long white beard picked the wrong place to have a hankerin’ for suspended pig head (the pit’s bait) and ended up impaled on a spike. Not wanting to end up on the wrong side of the law over a manslaughtered transient (I can relate!), Rauno enlists the help of his buddy Vuppe Piiparinen to “dispose” of the body before anyone of note discovers it. But, before they can butcher the geezer like a malnourished calf, they realize that the frostbitten old codger’s still alive!… and might be a zombie!… and he can smell children!… which is a level of creepy unease usually reserved for Catholic priests and those SNL skits about the family who make out with each other. Gross.


The rest of the movie is gonna be up to you to watch. I won’t tell you where it goes, but I will say that there’s a helicopter, high explosives, a bunch of missing kids and stolen radiators, and that odd title will be explained before the end credits roll. I was definitely surprised by the detour that takes place in the final act, and I mean that in the best of ways. Oh, and before it’s all said and done, Peter will grow balls bigger than a Kodiak’s as he joins the very exclusive club of child heroes I wouldn’t rather hit in the face with a brick than watch for five minutes, let alone an entire fucking movie.

If you didn’t figure it out by the 4 heart rating at the top, I liked this movie. I REALLY liked this movie. The story is incredibly original, the special effects are competent, the camera work is great and captures the Finnish countryside beautifully, and the relationship between Peter and Rauno has moments of heartbreak and modest warmth that are probably helped greatly by the fact that the actors playing them are real life father and son.

When I was told that Rare Exports was going to be about a killer zombie Santa, I was expecting something like I’d just seen in Saint Nick. I’m not gonna say my expectations were low as much as I thought I was sitting down to a different movie than what I wound up watching. Which, as stated, was definitely not a bad revelation. This is probably only the third time in my lifetime of movie watching that that’s happened, with the others being Cabin Fever and The Item, both of which I was expecting to be cookie cutter horror crap with way less to offer than they actually delivered. It’s like calling Pizza Hut and telling them “surprise me” on the toppings. I figured they’d just send me something with pepperoni, but instead a stuffed crust with ham and pineapple shows up at my door delivered by Aubrey Plaza wearing nothing but a smile and a wink.

Thanks for smiling and winking at me, Jalmari and Juuso Helander. I look forward to giving your first American movie, Big Game (starring Samuel L. Jackson!), a viewing when it releases next year to see if your lightning can strike twice. I hope it turns out to be a success, if not a full-on career maker, Sirs.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, my singing Alhazred has apparently eaten the head off of one of our neighbors and his wife is currently banging on my front door and threatening to call the constabulary. The crematorium takes a few minutes to heat up in these winter temps, so I better go fire it up now. Looks like my human sacrifices to Cthulhu will have to be a few days early this year…

The Moral of the Story: Even when you think you’ve seen everything, you haven’t seen everything.


That’s mandatory for any tourists visiting Utah.

He looks like the type of guy who spends every Christmas being visited by three ghosts.

“The hills are alive, with the rage of Santaaaaa!”

“What the hell’s that old man up there on about?”

Yeah, he’s making child chowder. Why? Did you think Santa ate nothing but cookies and milk all year long?!

It’s a Very David Lynch Christmas!

“Here. Fox News said that if I don’t send you to school with one of these, there’s a 200% chance someone else will shoot you dead.”

Sarah Palin and her helicopter strike again.

The people who brought the Alien Autopsy hoax video bring you a new kind of Christmas special…

Now it’s a Very Quentin Tarantino Christmas!

Looks like Scrooge there stepped in some reindeer’s yule log.

Years of exposure to Rudolph’s irradiated nose have left Santa with severe cataracts… and heat vision!

Happy Stork Adoption Services: delivering your children the old fashioned way!

“Sure! ‘Volunteer your time at the men’s shelter’ they said! ‘It’ll be a rewarding experience’ they said! ‘Re-discover the true meaning of Christmas’ they said! Well next time I’ll just say ‘FUCK YOU! YOU DO IT!’.”

This Christmas it’s ABC Family’s Cavalcade of Christmas Movie Originals! It all starts at noon with Babe 3: Babe’s Christmas Dinner!

Then, at 2, it’s Herbie the Developmentally Challenged Elf That Made Christmas An Awkward, Complicated Event for Everyone Around Him!

Following at 4, it’s a very wiseguys holiday when Santa whacks the Grinch! Ray Liotta stars in Henry Hill’s “A Christmas Carol”!

Finally, at 6, it’s the world television premiere of Kid Rock in Trailer Park Santa, Motherf*ckers! Suck My D*ck, Obama!

So join us at The Hallmark Channel, where this holiday season we’re putting the “Christ, what the fuck is this garbage?!” back into Christmas! 😀


Anubis will return next time in
Let’s Scare Megyn Kelly to Death!

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 11 – Saint Nick (2010)

or “Black (Pete) Christmas”


Featuring:  Egbert “Bollywood Hero” Weeber , Bert “Drift” Luppes , Caro “Johan” Lenssen

Director & Writer:  Dick “Killer Babes” Maas

Also Known As:  Saint

Origin:  Netherlands


Congratulations. This is the sixth dildo of the year and it breaks last year’s record of five dildos.

Well, it’s that time of year again. The chants of the cultists are being broadcast over radio stations the world over, the Tribute Trees are being raised in living rooms by the faithful and decorated with pendants bearing the likeness of Our Lord, ceremonial black candles made from the fat of heretics burn in the windows, fireplaces glow with the warmth of timbers torn from the desecrated prayer houses of the false idols, and the protective sigil wreaths hang from the front doors. Soon Cthulhu Claus will rise from his lair in the depths of R’lyeh to spread his shadow across the Earth, carried by the stars themselves, consuming the non-believers and rewarding the loyal thralls with the gift of another year of life to spend in servitude to His glory. Yes, it’s Cthulhumas time again children, and I’m in the mood to deck the halls with some festive nightmares!

Okay, I know that some of you (too many of you) don’t celebrate Cthulhumas and, whether for reasons of religion, consumerism, or just going along with the crowd, opt instead to do the whole Christmas thing. Unless you’re the “ignorance in bliss” type, you already know that your holiday of choice is an amalgamation of other cultures’ celebratory practices, designed for optimal appeal to potential converts and have little or nothing to do with any actual christian practices or beliefs. Jesus’s actual birthday was in the summer, the decoration of evergeen trees (as well as the use of mistletoe, holly, and wreaths) was swiped from Middle Eastern Pagans and originally DENOUNCED by christian leaders because of their heathenistic roots (no pun intended), and Santa Claus is just a pussyfoot knock-off of several gift giving myths, including “borrowing” heavily from the subject of today’s movie – Sinterklaas.

Based loosely on Odin of Norse Mythology (Anthony Hopkins in Thor), Sinter strides the rooftops of people’s houses on his white horse (which goes by many names), giving chocolate letters to kids, leaving money and gifts in the shoes of the poor, kidnapping juvenile delinquents, and relying on his minions the Black Petes to report back to him the good and bad deeds of the children throughout the year. Way before this could even be misconstrued as a racist thing, the Black Petes’ faces are smeared with soot (which… well… has become white people in black face… cuz… yeah… Europeans are racist) because they hang out in everybody’s chimneys so they can eavesdrop. Instead of Christmas, Sinterklaas’s holiday is Sinterklaasfeest, which celebrates the acts of Saint Nicholas, the patron saint of children and/or sailors, on December 6th.… so I REALLY should’ve done this review a friggin’ week earlier… damn it. Well, this adaptation of the adoption of Sinter added a steamboat to his repertoire, which is what the myths attributed to his ability to reach people in the Netherlands. Anyway, that’s all you really need to know for the sake of this review. You can learn more about Sinterklaas at your local library, cuz knowledge is power! Or, if you’re a lazy fuck like me and can’t read anything that isn’t backlit by a screen, just check out the following wiki page – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sinterklaas

In case you weren’t aware of the kind of site you’re reading, this isn’t going to be a pleasant stop motion Christmas family event a la Santa Claus is Coming to Town, or a “grunting coke head with a heart of gold (and a prison record) saves Christmas” bout of spiritual indigestion like The Santa Clause. And even though my inner child has a soft spot (and a bloodlust) for yuletide terrorizers about serial killers decked out in the ol’ red, white, and beard, we’re doing something different today. While the seasonal slashers are the way we like to do things in the US, Netherlander Dick Maas has something else in mind. Come along with us, won’t you?

In Maas’s merry holiday horror show, St. Nicholas wasn’t a present presenting philanthropist of chocolate alphabets and shoe stuffed playthings. Instead he was the patron satin of pirates and pillage, crewing a cadre of cutthroat corsairs who terrorized terrified townsfolk, murdering and marauding monthly in demand of tribute (tithe?) under the light of the full moon. Well, in 1492 (when Columbus sailed the ocean blue) one village had all they could stand and couldn’t stands no more. Fueled with a fresh can of spinach inhaled through their corncob pipes (by which I mean mob rage boiling over in their hate guts), they trailed the abominable bishop and his remorseless raiders (who are a looooooong way from LA… sorry, I mean Oakland) back to their big black death ship and burned the motherfucker down, along with the sinister swashbucklers still in it. I only wish people these days were more proactive with their violent rebuttals. Those west baptist dick snots would’ve had their flesh melted off of them in napalm baths years ago and world peace would’ve been a reality by now. Napalm: the solution to all of life’s biggest problems! This review is brought to you by a generous grant from Napalm Co., where we turn women and children into the Incredible Melting Man. They’re incredi-meltable! 😀

“Thanks Napalm Co.!”

Apparently St. Nick wasn’t just an asshole in a big hat and cape though, because his execution by barbecue may have been a temporary solution to the monthly murder visits (also what Isis refers to her period as, coincidentally enough), but it also brings about a curse – on every December 5th (St. Nicholas Eve), when there’s a full moon (approximately ever 32 years), the ebb and flow of annual holiday celebrations turn to an ebony flow of Black Petes, who release a crimson flow from the circulatory systems of their victims. Yes, the twisted visage of the true St. Nick returns to murder the merriment of the holiday that bears his namesake by kidnapping scads of rugrats and killing anyone with the misfortune of crossing the path of he and his zombie pirate horde of horrific helpers. Their faces aren’t smeared with soot though, they’re fried like Cajun chicken skin. Damn, now I’m getting hungry. Think I’ll go to Long John Silver’s for lunch and see if I can find any pirates’ faces to chew off.

As you can guess, Saint Nick is about such an event… uhm, the full moon holiday thing, not eating a pirate’s face as an alternative to microwaved fish tacos… huh huh, “fish taco”. December 5th has arrived, the moon hangs full in the sky like a fat guy at the all-you-can-eat lard buffet, and only two people stand between the Ghost of Holiday Holocaust and an Amsterdam full of festively decapitated citizens – high school student Frank (Egbert Weeber) and police detective Kurt Hoestra (Burt Luppes). Frank is your average slasher flick hero, whose mom suffers from a crippling condition that requires expensive surgery to fix, and whose girlfriend just broke up with him in front of their entire Physics class (whose Secret Saint Nicks apparently all work at the Dildo Emporium) for cheating on her with his new heart throb Lisa (Caro Lenssen). He also plays the titular icon during the annual St. Nicholas Eve holiday beer bash… if I and Rony had a baby together, we’d name it Irony.

As for Hoestra, his parents were slaughtered like holiday hams and his siblings snatched away like… things that are… frequently stolen… during the demon bishop’s last workday in 1968. He has an unhealthy obsession with the “myth” of the savage saint as a result, which is funny since these holiday slaughters ARE recorded every 32 years and NOBODY else seems to make the connection due to an apparent government cover up. Sounds like a job for Mulder and Scully, in “The X-Files Christmas Reunion Special”! Anyway, Hoestra’s commissioner forces him to take an extended leave for the month lest his mania adversely affect the rest of the department. Or, in case he just goes postal and guns down every person he sees in black face… which, to be fair, is an acceptable response to meeting anyone who actually wears black face… unless Kurt’s just one of those LAPD types and would use it as an excuse to Rodney King ACTUAL black people… Now THAT would be an interesting excuse to hear from a hate crimer.

As with any slasher movie hero, Frank must play the pariah when his newly self-exed girlfriend shows up dead in her chimney and he’s the prime suspect. It doesn’t help his innocence when the cops arrest him, finding a severed arm hanging from his bumper and ranting about his buddies having just been dismembered by a mob of Black Petes while a guy dressed like Saint Nick astride a zombie steed watched… When the police car he’s being transported in gets an APB about a crazy man riding a horse over the rooftops, the resulting chase is a perfect opportunity for Detective Hoestra to liberate Frank and recruit him to help in their now-two-man crusade to bring the curse of Saint Nick to an explosive finale… with explosives… lots and lots of explosives.

Unfortunately, I can’t speak for the talents of the actors involved here, as the only copy I could get my hands on was a dub whose voice cast sounds like the same three people. Moving on, Saint Nick is another regrettable case of a movie whose budget can’t quite keep up with its creator’s ideas. There are momentary computer effects that nut/tit slap your immersion in the movie, despite the necessity of not having an actual guy riding an actual horse on actual rooftops. Also, I won’t ruin the big finish for anybody, but having your big explosive ending conveniently obscured entirely by heavy fog is… what’s a bigger word for “disappointment”? Hmmmm, what was it my teachers all called me at my class reunion? Oh yeah, “tremendous disappointment”. Speaking of lackluster, the movie takes a dip in enjoyment for the last half hour or so, when it shifts away from Nick’s bloody rampage and puts too much focus on Frank and Kurt. Between the over-explaining of the detective’s motivations, and the hurdles they’re presented with on their way to enacting their plan, things don’t just slow down, they slow down in that way where you add a bunch of extra ‘o’s to the words: sloooooooooow doooooooooooown. The less-than thrilling cinematography and dynamicity (I love making up words) deficient score don’t help matters.

At its heart, Saint Nick is like a Dick Maas xmas card to Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees movies. From the persecuted hero to the maimed undead urban ledeng antagonist killing teens to the secondary character with a vendetta to enact against said ghoul to the government cover ups (albeit on a much larger scale here), even wrapping up with an epilog partially reminiscent of the final 5 minutes of Friday the 13th: A New Beginning. I take this more as an homage than a plagiarism though, so no harm no foul, Mr. Maas. I enjoy that we’re getting something more than just another asylum escapee donning his gay apparel and knifing naughty parents and perverts, not that there’s anything wrong with that! I enjoy that we’re getting something that doesn’t just perverse the icon of its holiday, but also the religion behind it. Also, glad to see something other than American Christmas as a basis for some horror. It’s a cultural learning experience! It’s just too bad the movie pulls a Switzerland and rides the fence between moderately serious slasher and balls out psycho splatter circus. Dedicate yourself to a side and stick with it next time, Mr. Maas. Thanks for giving me something new to add to my annual holiday horror-thons though! May Cthulhu spare you for another year. Fa la la la la, Fhtang Fhtang.

While we’re on the topic of movies made around holiday traditions unknown to most beyond we morbid curiosity seekers, where the fuck is my Krampus movie?! Wait… there IS a Krampus movie?! And it’s right here!? Well fuck. I know what a certain Death God is getting himself for Cthulhumas this year! You know, to go along with that righteous Bad Religion shirt with the lesbian nuns. Merry Cthulhumas indeed.

The Moral of the Story: Children shouldn’t be rewarded for good behavior. I find that threatening them with abduction by nefarious religious figures to be a much better motivator in making them mind their shit!


That’s exactly how Fangoria reacted to my first review submission.

Looks like that dude’s got… wait for it… A SPLITTING HEADACHE!

“This is my fiance Brad. We’ve been together for 4 years and we’re getting married in June.”

Hey, you sitting down. Donal Logue Jr. Yeah, unless you’re just the messiest chocolate eater ever, stop. Just stop.

Those Cyber Monday deals like to lure you in with stuff like free shipping, but in the end you wind up losing an arm… and a leg… now cut off your leg… sorry. I’ll stop now.

“I’m here for the Tor Johnson look-a-like contest.”

“No, I have no idea who skinned the cheetah at the city zoo. What are you implying?!”

“You silly corpse, life preservers are for people with life to preserve. Give me that.”

They’ve stumbled upon the shooting for Night of the Seagulls 2. Fuck.

Resident Evil’s Nemesis retired from Umbrella and followed his true calling by joining the Catholic Church.

Anubis will return next time in
Santa Claus is Coming to KILL!

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 10 – Gallowwalkers (2012)

or “Walk Like Aman, Talk Like Aman, Kill Like Aman”

Featuring:  Wesley “Blade” Snipes , Kevin “The Last Horror Movie” Howarth , Riley “Spring Break Shark Attack” Smith

Director:  AndrewB.U.S.T.E.DGoth

Writers:  Andrew “B.U.S.T.E.D” Goth  &  Joanne “Cold & Dark” Reay

Origin: USA/UK



Damn it, humanity needs a “Reset” button. So, another Black Friday has come and gone and another year of consumer horror stories have been written in the blood of its victims. In the pursuit of saving money, either on gifts for others or gets for themselves, another group of victims have been trampled, bludgeoned, mugged, tasered, shot, or straight up dragged under cars because there’s an entire population of animals out there who don’t yet know that the internet can be used to buy things, not just watch every shade of the porno rainbow and pirate entertainment from any and every medium… though, given that RedBox is still a thing, I guess there’s still plenty of people who haven’t even figured out the pirating thing yet. What I’d like to propose is that next year, after the initial mobs of psychotics have herded themselves into the stores, all exits are locked, then blocked off on the outside with bulldozers. Everyone will be given barbecue forks upon entry, and kiosks will be set up in each store with free gallon jugs of drink for the customers/gladiators, which will consist of a highly concentrated concoction of Red Bull, tequila, bath salts, and pure wolverine adrenaline. The madness will be captured and broadcast via high-def cameras on pay-per-view. The survivors of each store will be rewarded with a set of bath towels, a $10 gift card to a drug store chain that doesn’t operate within three states of the winner’s home, and a limited edition t-shirt. The ladies’ shirts will read “I Survived the 1st Annual Black Friday Blood Orgy and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt”, and the mens’ shirts will read “Black Friday Mustache Rides $1”. Don’t like it? Tough. Use the fucking internet like the rest of the evolved humans or die slaughtered like the animal you choose to remain. Speaking of slaughter and black things, let’s watch Gallowwalkers!

Originally planned to film in New Mexico in 2005 as a Chow Yun Fat movie called The Wretched (which, obviously never happened), Gallowwalkers turned into a movie filmed in Namibia in 2006 starring Wesley Snipes. Just a few short years after finishing/burying the Blade franchise with Trinity, Snipes was obviously interested in trying to establish a new supernatural vigilante franchise. Not long into the shoot, Snipes had that little run-in with the IRS about all the money he never paid them. He came back to the states, gave ’em a million dollars, then went back to Africa to finish filming. Once the shooting was complete, it was just a short SEVEN YEARS until it was finally released… on DVD… and don’t get your hopes up, cuz they sure as shitballs didn’t put more than a month or two of that seven years into the cg effects!

Our hero Aman (Snipes looking like wild west Brother Voodoo) suffers the deadliest weakness of any hero: an incredibly convoluted origin. It takes half the movie, and one horribly delivered 3 minute 3rd person narrative to get it all out, but allow me to push you off the Cliff’s Notes version – Aman’s momma belonged to a group called The Sisters of San Diablo, who live within “The Mountains of Resurrection”, which sits atop a gateway to Hell. You might think that the mountains are the butt plug closing off this gateway, but it’s actually the non-stop prayers of the sisterhood that serve as the big rubber fist in Satan’s sphincter. Okay, I know I said we’re doing the abridged version of this back story, but let’s stop here for a second and address this “San Diablo” shit first. San Diablo literally translates to “Saint Devil”. How the FUCK does that work?! If this were a group of sex orgy nuns from a Behemoth video working to OPEN the gateway to Hell between sessions of pounding each other to orgasm with big black strap-ons, then yeah, Sisters of San Diablo is a great name! But taking a group trying to keep Satan in his own backyard in the name of good and chastity and christian love and protecting the world from becoming a molten cesspool of sin vomit and bowel shredding torment, then basically calling them The Sisters of Satan?! I know most people couldn’t care less about stupid shit like this, but to me it’s comparable to the movie unleashing a Candiru up my urethra that eats only dick meat and shits white phosphorus!

Also, that last statement was packed with so much hyperbole, you’d need to have your tongue removed and your throat replaced with a length of industrial sized vacuum hose to swallow it all… JUST LIKE MY DIIIIIICK! BLART!

As I was typing, back to Aman. So, when his mom was taken in by and became a member of the Satan Humpers Sisterhood for the Corking of the Satan Hole, her bun was occupied by the bun that would become our hero. The Sisters aren’t cool with babies though, so when Aman was born he was stoop dropped at the nearest orphanage until the ripe old age of twelve, when he was booted out into the real world to become a man. Before he could die of exposure as a barely pubescent kid trekking alone through the DESERT, he was taken in by a widow (Jenny Gago) and her age adjacent daughter Sueno (who grows up to be Alyssa Pridham). Living with the ladies, he earned his keep by learning their trade (slaughtering) and helping around the office (a slaughterhouse), and as Aman and Sueno grew up together, they naturally “grew up” together… by which I mean they had sex. They fell in love, which is a good thing too since they really didn’t have any other options… unless Aman had a taste for cougar or Sueno turned out to be a lesbian with LITERAL mommy issues…

While Aman and mom were off taking the latest order and meat and skins to market, a quartet of ne’er-do-wells happened upon the slaughterhouse in the middle of nowhere (which seems to do pretty well for having almost no cattle around to ply their trade) and things go really Crow from here. The scoundrels had their way with Aman’s little lady and skedaddled, and when he came back and found out Susie’d been used for an Oklahoma Slop Swap, he vowed vengeance despite her begging him to forget that it’d ever happened and just got on with their lives. If he’d had a job interview the next day where they ask that stupid question, “Where do you see yourself in five years?”, Aman’s answer would’ve been “Murdering the enemies I hunted for years when I discover they’ve been arrested and confined to jail cells, only to return to my beloved’s side to discover her dead.” and he would’ve been spot fucking ON. Now I know what I’m going to say during my next job interview… though the whole “half man, half jackal” thing kinda gets me discriminated against anyway, so Isis knows when that’ll be.

So, yeah, despite taking his revenge on the bastards in an anti-climactic-as-you-can-possibly-get scene of gunning them all down while they sit defenseless in their jail cells, it’s all for naught anyway because his beloved be-died in his be-absence. I won’t tell you WHY she died though, since I don’t want to ruin major parts of the movie for anyone looking to satisfy their curiosity. Or, as Bast and I call it, committing cat suicide. Anyway, I believe it was the great four color philosopher Dr. Doom who once said, “A man is measured by the enemies he keeps”. This would seem doubly true for our hero, since his name is Aman and all, so if Aman is truly measured by the enemies he keeps (please don’t hit), then he’d seem to be coming up pretty short if the targets of his vendetta are all wiped out in an all too brief exchange like that. Instead, all of the people Aman kills come back as seemingly invincible ghouls who retain their mental faculties, so they’re NOT zombies. The only real difference between their breathing selves and their postmortem makeovers are a set of stark yellow contact lenses and an inability to keep their heal their flesh from being baked and rotted in the desert parch. As such, unless they skin the occasion unfortunate gang of people, their skin will rot off and they’re left looking like Uncle Frank from Hellraiser post-puzzle box and pre-flesh suit… if he’d been put into a man-sized dehydrator (purchased from the Nazi Sharper Image catalog) and turned into jive turkey jerky.

And so, now it’s up to Aman to re-hunt the gang responsible for destroying his life that he’s responsible for restoring to life… for reasons that I, again, will not divulge for the sake of this review. Said villains bring their evil ways and skin snatching to an out-of-the-way town known as Enoch’s Hammer, populated by christian zealot extremist albinos (the fuck!?) who manipulate the nearby law enforcement offices into rounding up their sinners and bringing them there to immediately put to death on their gallows to save their souls from getting too damned and winding up in Hell… sorry, but I need to make another complaint to the dildo in charge of the naming department for this movie. Though Enoch’s Hammer is one of the coolest names in the history of naming stuff, it has NO religious base. It’s a reference to the hammers with which the 19th Century Luddites smashed the job stealing technology that was putting the work of skilled artisans like themselves into the hands of unskilled laborers who just needed to pull a switch and not get their limbs torn off in the process. The hammers were made by a blacksmith named Enoch Taylor, hence “Enoch’s Hammers”. It has NOTHING to do with christianity, extremist or otherwise, just anti-technology dudes who didn’t wanna lose their jobs. They’re also a “Country Dance Band” in the UK that you can check out here. And another Candiru goes straight up my piss hole. Thanks Joanne and Andrew.

One guy who was destined to swing by the neck in Hammer is pretty boy Fabulos, who evades the big finale thanks to Aman. In need of a Robin to his Batman before he can take on the re-animated reprobates, Aman frees Fab from a posse of crooked cops, enlightens him with that whole weird 3 minute third person narrative origin mentioned many many paragraphs before, and prepares him for the big to-do with the sinister sinsters who have fun names like Kansa (Kevin Howarth), Kisscut (Simona Brhlíková), Slip Knot (Jonathan García), and Skullbucket (“Diamond” Dallas Page!)… not to be confused with fun names like Top Dollar, T-Bird, Skank, or Funboy… The bad guys’ reputation for being hellborn horsemen of death and destruction has earned them the infamous title of “The Gallow Walkers” by the terrified populace… despite the fact that they were all killed by gunshots… yep, that’s THREE dick parasites now! I’m about ready to just shed this husk and get a new body. At least this one I can rent out as a freeloader flop house on the side.

And what’s the destination for these drolly dubbed deviants? They want to find Mount Resurrection, because oddly enough, Kansa’s dead son didn’t rise from the grave (well, corpse pile) with the rest of ’em. So, Kansa intends to bring him back the good ol’ fashioned way – through the magic of the giant stone sphincter stopper because, as he says, “If it’s good enough for Jesus, it should be good enough for us!”. The cool part? Junior’s body is toted around like a big crucified mummy the entire time on the back of resident butcher minion Mosca (Derek Griffiths), which makes for a great visual. I gotta give Goth that much.

Will Blade Brother Voodoo Aman be able to take down all of the Jerky Boys in the final wild wild west showdown at high noon on Boot Hill with a bonanza of gunsmoke, or will our hero be unable to end their evil since they won’t be the proverbial fish in a barrel this time? At least if he dies, Aman will be freed from ever having to buy hats again… cuz the only way to kill a “Gallow Walker” is by decapitation… and Aman is a “Gallow Walker” too… oh wait, I *SPOYLERZ, YOOOOO!!!1!* Aman’s a ghoul too. I wasn’t going to ruin the surprise, but I had to in order to address another problem with the movie – as stated, the villains need to replace their festering skin sacks periodically, which includes Mosca taking the interesting little initiative of using lizards butts to re-skin the back of his head because they’ll stand up to the sun longer than human skin. Anyway, the problem lays with Aman, who doesn’t have to deal with the dermal decay difficulty for reasons unexplained, probably in part because the hero can’t look like roadkill with a beard and in other part because Snipes wouldn’t agree to wearing the makeup for the limited payday he probably pulled in for this rest stop on the career highway.

For anyone who wants to say “But Anubis, I thought black people didn’t get sunburn?”, allow me to respond by telling you that’s a myth and you’re a racist for believing it. What would’ve been cool, and very doable provided you had the right leading man willing to do so, would’ve been having Aman replace his lost skin with animal hide, since it would be both far more durable than human flesh and thus require far less changing, plus it would be readily available given his adoptive mom’s slaughterhouse business. It’s hard enough selling the movie as it is though, so I can see where having your protagonist looking like New Jack City Leatherface (now THAT’s an action figure I’d buy!) could make it harder to appeal to would-be fans… or easier if you’re marketing to the right audience… Either way, a perfect opportunity for something unique completely squandered. Poopy.

Speaking of squandered, I was really hoping we’d get some more mileage out of Dallas Page’s paycheck. The Devil’s Rejects showed us what a fantastic dirt bag he can be, so restricting him to a single brief scene and hiding him the rest of the time under a big spiky Commando Cody bucket helmet is a shame. Hell, the guy was a professional wrestler for the better part of 15 years (and is currently a Yoga instructor and motivational speaker if you can believe it), but instead of having him put on a well choreographed brawl with Wesley’s stunt double, they just have him charge around in a barn like a junkyard Juggernaut. I don’t believe it was Page under that helmet, myself. I’m pretty sure he was there for his one scene of dialog, and after that they just paid a stuntman to finish out Skullbucket’s screen time. Like I said: squandered.

Despite my previous complaints… here are a few more! For starters, the cgi is crap. The makeup work is good, but the cgi (kept mostly to gore and dismemberment) was, in keeping with the movie’s original working title, wretched. If you can’t afford top-of-the-line tech, just stick with Karo Syrup, squibs, and fake heads. Next, the acting from this cast ranged from tolerable to terrible to “What the fuck is Welsey Snipes doing?!”. He sounds like friggin’ Tanto half the time, speaking in third person and leaving words out of his dialog like English isn’t Aman’s first language. Further down the path of disappointment is the camera work, which feels very “point and click”, and the music with is generic and lazy. Finally, a big splinter in my gums that applies to WAY too many movies where large groups of people are getting gunned down, Gallowwalkers also suffers from that I’ve dubbed “Ring Around the Rosey Syndrome”, where the fodder getting shot down by the hero/villain ALL FALL DOWN AT THE SAME TIME! “Ashes! Ashes!” is just replaced by “BANG! BANG!”, and every instance of it occurring raises my blood pressure that many points closer to a savage coronary. My left arm hurts just thinking about it. It doesn’t help that whenever someone gets their gun shot out of their hand, the actors just throw the gun aside. If you’re getting your firearm shot out of your hand, you’re getting your hand shot. You wouldn’t just move your hand to the side and toss the gun, you’d jerk your hand and react like you’ve just been shot IN THE HAND.

For all of its faults though, Gallowwalkers still does a few things right in my book. And when my book is The Necronomicon, all other books are Charmin. Despite being a massive rip-off of The Crow, the concept here is good if a bit muddled. A little bit of clean up, a little more about the Sisters of San Diablo, a LOT of revisions to goofy/illogical naming of everything, a boost in character development, and a bit more about Enoch’s Hammer and this weather vane would be on its way to pointing its cock in the right direction. I even liked the little Apprentice Boy (David De Beer), who serves as the movie’s rip-off of the Feral Kid from Road Warrior. He’s mostly mute and kills guys with his slingshot, so even though I hate kids, I don’t hate him. I also enjoyed the stark Namibian desert locales. Really gives you feel of barren western wastelands. The costumes and character designs are good too. If it weren’t for the stupid names (okay, Skullbucket is a pretty good name), the bad guys are otherwise very memorable. There’s a trio of cowboy cardinals (as pictured below) that are especially visually striking, but who don’t get nearly as much screen time as I’d like. I do like that Kansa spends most of the movie in the skin of an albino, so you’ve got the whitest white villain going against one of the most Nubian motherfuckers this side of Sam Jackson. It’s not a race thing (and I’m honestly happy that it never went there), and I doubt it’s supposed to be some “black power vs. white power” statement by Andrew Goth (the starring role was originally supposed to go to Chow Yun Fat after all), I just like the visual contrast. The albino look’s also way more interesting than the generic “dirty cattle rustler” look Kansa had going on in his previous life, so just go with it.

Overall, Gallowwalkers was already ice skating uphill by going with the cowboy theme (kids today want their monster hunting down in gothic, steampunk, dystopian, or modern city settings), so I admire its gumption going with something different. Shooting in those desert conditions has to be some of the hardest to do too, so props to everyone for putting up with it. With a little script reworking and story tweaking, some better line reading, and either a little more budget for visual effects or ALL of the effects budget for traditional work, I’d easy bump this sucker up a few hearts. As it stands, 2 life pumps are all she wrote, and I’m sticking with it.

Finally, I’d like to end my review on the following note: actress Tanit Phoenix has a prominent (and pointless) role as a prostitute “dancer” named Angel who literally adds nothing to the story. Every time I’ve glanced over Miss Phoenix’s name through the course of watching the movie and checking the IMDB page for info, I misread her name as “Taint Phoenix”, which makes me think of a flaming bird soaring majestically from between a redhead’s legs… you’re welcome. Good night, kids!

The Moral of the Story:You never forget the man who kills ya for the first time. First time’s always special.”


The scene at the dumpsters behind any Arby’s after the lunch hour rush.

“Kids, when the WWE tells you not to try anything you see on their programs at home? Don’t try anything you see on their programs at home.”

No matter how badass you make yourself look, no one looks cool riding a hand cart. NO ONE.

“Mrfff frmmrfff frrmrrrf frrrrrrmffmrmr!”*
(*”This is why you never swear in front at a nun!”)

Come on Marvel, make a Brother Voodoo movie happen!

The poor man’s Evan Stone (probably minus the scrotadactyl).

The poor man’s Harvey Keitel (probably minus the scrotadactyl).

Jack Links has found the spokesman for their new Turkey Jerky campaign!

Now, I KNOW black-face is fucked up and frowned upon, but… how am I supposed to feel about white-face?… hey, it was that or a bukkake joke.

“If you think the tails grafted to the back of my head are weird, wait till you see what I did to my tongue!”

“And this is for Invasion of the Neptune Men, you son of a BITCH!”

Willam Dafoe is Iggy Pop in “Butt Town: the Musical: the Movie”!

Anubis will return next time in
“Black (Pete) Christmas”

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.