Feature 54 – Faust: Love of the Damned (2000)

or “Son of Satan”

Featuring: Mark “‘Doctors’” Frost , Andrew “Wishmaster” Divoff , Jeffrey “Re-Animator” Combs

Director: Brian “Beyond Re-Animator” Yuzna

Writer: David Quinn

Origin: Spain

Review_____

“There’s no grand design, just an outbreak of chaos. Like a pimple on the face of God.”

Fox’s Fant4stic came out a few weeks ago and bombed harder than Fat Man and Little Boy. In “honor” of the flick’s release from the Hollywood poop shoot, I could have reviewed the studio’s two prior attempts at bringing Marvel’s first family to feature length glory. But, that would’ve been too easy. For those of you who know me, you know I always do things the Max Power way (look it up). For those of you who don’t know me, uhm, I’m Anubis Von Mojo – the proprietor of the shitty movie review site you’re currently reading. Nice to meet you?

Fuck it. Anyway, rather than go with the obvious, I thought I’d obscure it up a bit and insert a stiff finger-blasting of wordplay into the mix. As such, this “reviews thing” will highlight four movies from Brian Yuzna’s no-longer-breathing horror production company, Fantastic Factory. I even opted to slip a a second wordplay finger into the backdoor by using Marvel horror comic book references as the alternate titles for these episodes! Now, if I’m done geeking myself off, let’s turn this factory’s lights back on and start making some fantastic. What better place to start this so-called event off than with FF’s premiere production!

[Writer’s Note: despite being from Spain, the Fantastic Factory movies are NOT considered part of “World Tour de Farce 2015”. That would be cheating. I have something else in mind for Spain, which you’ll find out about once I get around to that neck of the woods…which will be sometime around 2017 at this rate. Blart.]

Faust: Love of the Damned” originally started as a 1987 comic book series of the same name plucked from the demented minds and talented hands of independent creators Tim Vigil and David Quinn. It took 25 years and two different publishers (from Rebel Studios to Avatar Press) before the pair finally finished the tale’s 15 issue run. And you Song of Fire and Ice (Game of Thrones) nerds thought George R.R. Martin took his sweet time? Fuckin’ artists and their “process”.

As you’ll notice, Quinn was also brought on as the writer for this live-action adaptation, which is a good thing if you want your movie to feel more like a comic book. In this case, it definitely does. Not to the audience taxing extents of Ang Lee’s Hulk with all the gimmicky comic panel shots and such, but more through dialogue, story structure and scene progression. That’s not necessarily a good thing, but it’s still a thing, whatever your tastes may be.

Aaaaaaanyway, let’s make like BTO and get to takin’ care of the proverbial business!

Though the movie is presented in a very “broken and out of order” story sequence, I’m just going to work through it chronologically to make it more cohesive.

Aside from having a very old skool Marvel Comics-esque alliteration heavy moniker that’s confusingly close to Jasper Johns’ name, and a self-indulgent status as an “artist”, John Jaspers (Mark Frost–not to be confused with Jack Frost or Mister Frost) also has a beautiful girlfriend. The exotic Blue (Jennifer Rope) is JJ’s muse, his beloved, his everything. Too bad for him that she’s also an illegal immigrant who was brought into the country by less-than-legal means, courtesy of a gang of ne’er-do-wells. When the goons (are they hired goons, perchance?) come looking to punish Blue for not repaying her tariff, wimpy little Jaspers tries to intervene. Instead of being the roundhouse kicking Dalton that his chromatically monikered madam needs though, Double J’s just her dime store Eric Draven, held impotent and agonizing while the woman he loves is tortured before his soggy eyeballs. He’s cold cocked and left to sleep it off while presumably unspeakable acts are performed on the lovely lady with the painful accent.

When he comes to from his ass kicking, a disheveled Jaspers (who should wipe that smear of ketchup off of his mouth before his mother comes at him in a public place with a spat upon napkin) discovers his corpsed-up soul mate/mail order bride inversely crucified upon one of his easels. It’s actually a cool visual that I’d never considered before seeing it here, and given my tendency to daydream about the different things I could crucify people to, I’m surprised. Anyway, with his beloved now be-deaded, JJ declares life a crushing boulder of searing agony squatting on his chest and no longer worth living. He’s the personification of every Morrisey song: boo-hoo poor me emo tripe all day and all night.

And now, courtesy of the Meat Council, this free tripe!

On the verge of taking his own life via bridge bungee jump (sans bungee), our protagonist’s approached by a touchy-feely harlot named Claire (Mónica Van Campen) and her ominous looking white-haired boyfriend referred to only as “M”. “Why so ominous?” Because, Joker, M’s played by Andrew Divoff. When Wishmaster‘s demonic djinn is in your movie, 95% of the time he’s got evil intentions a-brewin’. Sure enough, the mono-consonantly titled stranger offers John Boy immortality and the power to take revenge on those who have wronged him, but makes no bones about warning him that his payment for such power will be his eternal soul now, and a future thing that Jaspers holds closest to his heart, to be named later. Ready to end his existence anyway and having no belief in a “soul” to begin with, JJ figures “Fuck it! I’ll take the demonic revenge powers!”.

From suicidal pessimist to optimist who thinks he can get one over on the Prince of Lies in a matter of moments. Now me? I hate optimists. They’re just in denial of how the world is nothing but a barb wire wrapped dildo trying to butt fuck us every chance it gets. The kind of people who think that the massive potholes in their lives are part of some “god’s plan”. The kind of people who try to put a positive spin on being shat upon by avian airstrikes, calling it “good luck”. NO! YOU WERE SHIT ON BY A FUCKING BIRD! YOU’RE NOT DUE GOOD LUCK, YOU’RE TARGET PRACTICE! YOU’RE A LOWER LIFEFORM’S TOILET! And if everything’s part of “god’s plan”, then why the fuck are you praying to him to make changes in your life?! Aren’t you supposed to just sit back and let the guy in the sky do his thing? Do you think you know better than “god”?! Monkeys.

No sooner does John start smearing his gory signature on Mephistopheles’ contract, you can practically hear Hugo Weaving proclaiming “the sound of inevitability” in your ear, because you know deals with Ol’ Scratch generally don’t end well. Until the fine print bites him in the ass though, John at least gets himself a slick pair of forearm mounted, retractable stabby talons with which to perforate his adversaries’ innards! He wastes no time surprising the gang in their warehouse hideout (how he knew where said hideout was is never explained) and relieving the three members he finds there of the massive tumors they call their heads. Returning to M, JJ’s told that his job isn’t done yet because he’s now Satan’s assassin. He tries to put his new boss in His place, only to discover that, surprise, the claws won’t come out against their bestower. The Great Deceiver’s not new to this game, dummy. I am curious as to why the Lord of Darkness would enroll a simpering little art school dropout as his hired gun though, since you’d imagine a soldier or an MMA fighter or even Uwe Boll would be a better option physically. Maybe M just didn’t want to have to travel far from his home office and JJ was the closest suicidal person he could find on such short notice.

Being M’s loaded gun isn’t all bad, though. The benefits plan includes shower sex with Claire, after all. As Satan’s fuck toy, she’s probably immune to STDs…or flooded with them. Maybe it’s not such a benefit after all.

JJ is sent by his new boss to a Chinese (maybe?) embassy to turn the place into an international house of pancakes carnage. He carves up 19 people, but rather than go for a nice round 20, stops short of killing police Lieutenant Dan “Hound Dog” Margolis (Jeffrey Combs!). Instead of rending Dan into itty-bitty pieces fit for an itty-bitty-ditty bag, the wild-eyed Jaspers sheaths his claws, utters “No” to a nearby Claire (concealed behind a veil), then mutters “The Hand.” to the Lieutenant, then slips into a completely unresponsive state of total mental meltdown. Before the rest of the fuzz can gun down JJ like an unarmed black teen in the park, Margolis interjects and takes the mentally disturbed human lawnmower into custody. This to the chagrin of the Lieutenant’s “oh you KNOW that dick bag is a bad guy!” boss Commissioner Marino (Fermi Reixach), who tries to have Jaspers filled with more lead than a Chinese toy factory, only to be disappointed because now Jaspers the Friendly Ghost will likely get off on a plea of insanity.

Due to said regression into an unresponsive vegetable (his brains have turned into figurative cauliflower), John is given accommodations in a padded room rather than a jail cell. Here he soon meets his appointed psychoanalyst, Dr. Jade de Camp (Isabel Brook), who has experience with bringing patients out of traumatically induced consciousness crashes through “unusual methods”.

At first blush I thought this meant she was going to be one of those therapists you see in 2 a.m. Showtime softcore flicks who fix all of their patients by having hilarious, poorly choreographed sex scenes with them, but Jade’s atypical tactics of treatment basically just consist of trying to trigger a cognitive reaction by playing music. So you can make me cry uncontrollably by playing “The Humpty Dance”. Big deal. It proves NOTHING!

While Jade is trying to finger our hero’s trigger, Lt. Dan (“Have you found Jesus yet, Gump?”) flexes his Netscape-Fu and scours the worldwide wasteland for information on an occult sect known as “The Hand”, as per Johnny’s utterance of the words at the embassy slaughter. He finds the information faster than you can look up “Thundercats hentai” or “dump cake recipes”, as the group appears to have their own Angelfire page! Not very clandestine of them. Hell, I can’t even get my page near the top of search engine results when you type in “The Tomb of Anubis”, so they must put a LOT of their marketing budget into their internet advertising if they’re showing up in the top 10 for something as commonplace as “the hand”! Movies. What’re you gonna do? Blart, that’s what.

While silently drawing seemingly Satanic symbols on the walls of his cell (at first with his own blood, then with a Sharpie provided by Dr. J), John has a reaction when he sees a certain CD in Dr. de Camp’s pile of mood music. Desperate to get her patient to say anything, she puts the disc (presumably a choice track from the Faust soundtrack, available NOW 15 years ago from Roadrunner Records!) on and gets just the manic lashing out that she’d hoped for! He breaks down in a bit of acting that can’t help but recall Jeff Daniels’ award-winning performance in Dumb and Dumber as he tells Jade his story (which I already covered previously, so you and I can fast forward through this next part). You’re welcome.

During story time, JJ gets all “artist speak” on us and shows us the “depth” of his “tortured soul” by yammering on about the shallowness of art in comparison to love and how evil is a thing despite the existence of science and technology (Duh! Ever hear of Decepticons?!) and blah blah blah. The line between pseudo intellectual and actual intellectual isn’t a thin line: it’s a gaping chasm and this guy’s sitting at the bottom of it, standing on his head and jerking off into his own mouth. Guys, never get high on your own stash. It’s like meth: Not Even Once.

Having bucked M’s control and thus avoided an LAPD style “excessive force” demise, JJ is now wanted by the bad guys. He’s snatched from his padded room after hours by Dr. Yamamoto (the head doctor in charge of him who also happens to be M’s personal physician), and two of the goons responsible for Blue’s death. Now, is this all a big coincidence that M’s both the cause of Jaspers’ misery, as well as the provider of his power? Or, was it part of an overarching scheme? Whatever the case, Jpeg’s drugged and dragged to a cemetery, where M gloats over him a bit before burying the blonde blood-letter alive and sending him to eternal damnation in Hell. In the fiery beyond, Jaspers is strangled by a skeleton until he uses his talons (stupid of M to bury him with the damn things like some kind of Bond villain) to crack-a-lack its cranium and return to life. Amidst the dirt (and an inordinate number of worms), he claws his way from the earthen womb of his resurrection! And Yuzna ruins any awesome factor the scene once had by having a headstone to Jaspers’ makeshift grave with “AUS” and three conveniently placed scratches upon it spell out “FAUST” when JJ’s claws cast a shadow across it.

See? I literally face palmed at this and had to walk away for a breather. If I’d known things were going to get this corny I would’ve brought some butter and salt. Fuck.

Making good on his promise to take away something important to JJ (despite having just buried the guy alive with the intention of sending him to Hell), M sends his henches to snatch Jade. As they surround her in an ominous alley that’s on loan from a Death Wish movie, a caped figure descends upon the fiends from above. Looking like concept art for a Clive Barker Batman movie (and with the red light-up eyes of a drug store Halloween mask), Jaspers proceeds to eviscerate the villains as his new, blood crazed, eponymous persona Faust. He’s dressed like the Dark Knight, cracks demented one-liners a la The Joker, and murders with the savagery and bladed protrusions of Wolverine. All things that should be amazing, but the rubber muscle suit is distractingly silly and the line delivery boils just a little too far over the top of the pot. It needs to be more Jack Nicholson Joker and less Frank Gorshin Riddler. Hell, even a bit more toward Jim Carrey Riddler might not have been so bad.

No, wait. I’d rather swallow a nest of vipers than praise anything related to a Joel Schumacher Batman movie. Carrey on.

Dan and Jade combine their powers to form a Captain Planet of an investigation (he is our hero, after all), against the orders of the so-obvious-that-he’s-in-on-it Commissioner Marino. Who’s your favorite Marino? Dan Marino seems like a nice enough guy, but I have to stand by Ken Marino. Guy’s amazing. And no amount of touchdown passes or Isatoner commercials will ever top repeated declarations of “I WANNA DIP MY BALLS IN IT!”. Where was I? Oh yeah, Marino’s clearly under M’s employ and if they’re not going to be upfront with it from the start, Yuzna probably shouldn’t have had the guy’s voice dubbed by someone so blatantly sinister sounding. That motherfucker is up to no good. Up to no good. Like a spark on a wire. Or a splinter of a wood. I gotta stop listening to Rancid while I write these things.

Back at the baddies’ den o’ sin, succubus nympho Claire conspires against her sugar devil, but Big Daddy Mammon lets her know that he’s aware of her plans and puts her in her place by turning her into a big slimy pile of boobs and butt flesh with a face and tiny stick arms. You know, pretty much what you’d expect to see out of a Screaming Mad George concoction. Unless you’re a narcissist who fears this happening to you, the whole sequence is much funnier than it is terrifying. The silly music doesn’t help, and my respect for Yuzna as a horror guy dwindles as a I realize, intentionally or not, the guy’s trying too hard to emulate Charles Band’s ’90s stuff and it’s not to his (or our) benefit. My hopes for the other three movies on this “reviews thing” is dipping to dangerous levels. My hope for my hope chest (i.e. my DVD collection) is dissipating like a fart from a dead body’s voided bowels.

JJ visits a towel clad, post-bath Jade at her apartment, vowing to protect her from M’s machinations and the threat of whatever “worse than death” plans he has in store for her. When the officers assigned to watch her intervene, he transforms into Faust (through the magic of late ’90s low budget computerized morphing technology – a trauma we’d all like to overcome), tells them to take a message to their boss, then proceeds to lick one of them (he’s got an odd, homo-erotic sadism fetish where he keeps making mouth time with decapitated mens’ faces) before gutting them both. So, I guess the delivery of that message was purely symbolic then? As Jade runs off scared out of her mind (but not too scared to have grabbed her trench coat), Faust goes to a window and shouts the best line of the movie at her: “I’m the pornography that gets you HOT!” It’s one of the brief moments that Frost’s exaggerated delivery works and it’s amazing.

One of the porcine peacekeepers survives his sticking long enough to call in backup, leading to a chase scene as the 5-0 show up to “help” Miss de Camp. But, when she sees Yamamoto there, her guts tell her something’s not right, confirmed when he tries to poke her with some sleepy juice (now known as a “Cosby Non-Consent Cocktail”). She runs onto a conveniently waiting subway train that Margolis manages to miss, but Faust does not. In fact, he does a little comically needless/needlessly comical hop into the car! Faust adds a few more notches to his one-eight-seven bodycount and wins the award for Most Subway Passengers Traumatized since Predator 2 took the prize a decade earlier. Given the choice between the sleazy Commissioner and the blood-soaked one-man killing streak, our heroine opts for the latter. These days, when given the same choice, I think most people would do just that.

Back at Johnny’s place, the two debate over tea and scones whether he’s retained any of his humanity, whether evil is a curable mental condition or an incurable primordial state of being and what the hero’s intentions are for her lady parts. Actually, they just yell at each other about said subjects until ultimately banging like hamsters on Viagra. Here’s a tip, folks – when someone asks you if you want to rape them, there’s a good chance that means they’re floating a role play fantasy out there and are waiting for your reaction without straight up asking you if you’d do it. Never do anything to someone without their consent, but definitely evaluate whether you want to continue this relationship or not, because things can get REALLY tricky. Not necessarily bad, but tricky. Always establish parameters for consent and even then be prepared, because your partner is probably going to get freaky in your ear. Personal experience, that’s all I’m saying.

In the throes of their humpening, Jade tells John that she’s wanted to jump his bones from the moment she saw him (therapists love damaged people they can “save”, it’s an ego driven Jesus complex thingy), then declares that “this is forever”. Yikes! I’ve been known to bring out the ‘L’ word (“Lesbians?”) a little too soon with a couple of gals, but “this is forever” is something better saved for wedding vows and contracts with your internet provider, not first time flings! Making the scene all the more awkward (aside from the bits of demonic residue/cop blood still sticking to nekkid John) is the “love making” track that plays over it, dominated by a woman humming sensuously as if she were sipping on a chocolate shake and getting her feet rubbed while recording it. What makes it even more awkward is when Jade’s own trauma kicks in and her mind is flooded with the horrors of a hideous faceless creature she refers to only as “Smooth Man”. Not Barry White smooth, but “fat guy post Brazilian wax drizzled in baby oil” smooth. Gross. Evidently, when she was a little girl Jade was molested by the Incredible Melting Man. He’s incredi-meltable!…and on the Public Sex Offender List.

The mood for their first time officially killed, Jaspers does the right thing and just cuddles with Jade while she opens up about her PTSD, then promises to protect her after. Good man. Meanwhile, The Hand are on the verge of seeing their centuries old plan to fruition, as tonight is the night their dark god Homunculus will finally be summoned and the Earth will be transformed into Hell…except that there’s another day’s worth of scenes, so I guess they meant tomorrow night. Margolis tails Marino to a roundtable meeting at M’s mansion and watches as the Commish rakes M over the coals for not being able to control his own human Cuisinart. The rest of their cabal also show faltering faith, so the Morning Star makes an example out of the rabble-rouser and absorbs him into his stomach using these big abdominal demon arms a la that crazy shit at the end of The Evil Dead. With his minions back in their proper place of fear-based reverence, our main antagonist needs to have a sit and get juiced by Yamamoto, as his human form is getting weak. Not weak enough to overlook Margolis though, whom he sees from the other side of a two-way mirror and puts some evil whammy on.

Margolis calls Jade and tells her that he’s uncovered the truth about what The Hand have planned. He also says he’s found JJ’s contract and has a plan for how they can void it, but tells her to meet him at M’s estate before he’ll go into any details. Oh, and he wants her to come alone…riiiiiiiiiight. Danny Boy’s heel turn might not have been so obvious had they not just ended the previous scene the way they did! Damn it, Yuzna.

Jade finds nothing strange about how she’s able to just waltz through M’s unlocked front door untouched, and follows Dan further in the bad guys’ inner sanctum. She finds the contract and deletes any empathy I had for her when it turns out she’s one of those obnoxious people who moves her fucking lips and mutters when she reads something to herself too. She’s approached by M, who offers to trade her JJ’s freedom for full power of attorney over her body. Dan reveals his official switching of teams as well, jealous that Jade chose doing the bed spread rumba with Jaspers over him, finally giving Combs a chance to sink his teeth into some scenery like he does so well. Elsewhere, Claire conspires with Dr. ‘To to poison the big boss and steal his wealth of knowledge and powers for their own, seemingly unfazed by the whole “Dali Meets Picasso” pile-of-tits-and-ass flesh fiasco she went through before. Claire even tells ‘Moto to his face that he can’t trust her, but the threatening seeds she plants in the doctor’s ear of his loss of usefulness once M gains his full power are enough to convince the portly physician to go into business for himself. Elsewhere still, John wakes up in bed, discovers Jade has left and freaks out. For all he knows she went out to get them coffee and crullers and he’s throwing a spaz like a codependent child over nothing. Lighten up!

The conspiracy against M seems to go off well, as Yam’s lethal injection leaves his now former boss dead in a heap of gross on his fancy Oriental rug. Too bad for the doc though that M managed to kill him too before giving up the ghost. Oh well, he would’ve ended up dead either way. But, if given the choice, I’d probably rather my throat slit by a sadistic succubus in mid-climax than having my face chewed off by an old man with coke junkie nails. Claire doubly confirms her newly widowed status by turning what’s left of her hubby’s head into a 12 gauge smear. Upon taking charge, the black widow goes full Domme on Jade, locking her in a stockade and whipping her ass with a cat-o-nine tails, then dressing her in a belly dancer bikini and putting her in an electrified cage while she turns her sexual nightmares about Smooth Man into fantasy, transforming her into a horny sex kitten almost as fast as Japanese schoolgirls learn to lust after monster tentacles. So the fastest way to cure severe emotional damage in someone is to inflict severe physical damage on them instead? Gotcha.

Turns out it’s not as easy to kill the Prince of Darkness as Claire thought, as M then pops up to take back his baby momma-to-be. Yep, M’s going to pull a Demonic Toys and impregnate a human woman with his new form. Though why someone would want to relive childhood, even in an instance like this, is beyond my comprehension. The ritual sees M pull a huge yellow anaconda out of a bound, mud caked Claire’s stomach then feed the snake to a mud caked Dan while Claire’s body is engulfed in flames. Dan falls over dead (what the fuck was the point of the snake!?), Jade does interpretive dance on an altar and random minions stab chanting extras to death all around them. Faust bursts through a window to interrupt Beelzebub’s bacchanal, killing several goons wearing red KKK hoods (on laundry day, you’d think racists would know not to mix coloreds in with whites *rimshot*) before reverting to his emotionally crippled human form upon seeing that Jade’s willingly turned into Satan’s breeding slut. He watches in horror as two-pump chump M gets his rocks off in his girlfriend while she has the ill-timed breakthrough that Smooth Man was actually her father. Disturbing as this is, I was worried they were going to reveal that it was M who’d raped 11 year old Jade as part of his long term plot to eventually manipulate her into being a Hell whore. Though less nauseating that the incest thing, it would’ve been hokey as fuckin’ pokey.

Upon M’s climax, the Homunculus is summoned. Wait. That’s their Homunculus!? No. By definition a homunculus is a small, artificially made human being. I saw Verne Troyer at a comic convention last weekend. HE is a homunculus. The thing M is summoning resembles something out of the nightmare a lesbian has right before she realizes that dicks aren’t her forte. It looks like Ultraman monster villain Bogun by way of a Ken Russell fever dream after he’s downed too much absinthe and LSD. It’s Satan’s wedding tackle. We can thank Screaming Mad for this, as the monster’s design is his own. The comic book form of the Homunculus was more in line with a werewolf…which STILL ISN’T A HOMUNCULUS!

M sends Jade to commit her final act of devotion by killing the now bound John, but she does the hero thing instead and cuts the straps, thus freeing him to become Faust again. The Non-munculus proceeds to turn the entire ceremony into a mass funeral pyre, burning all of its followers while Faust does this embarrassing “hop and flail” thing, attempting to slash the monster as it sits just out of his reach. You know what he needs? Judge Doom’s spring shoes. Cartoony, yes, but they’d actually be less goofy than just watching him hopping up and down like a little kid whose big brother is holding his favorite toy out of reach. Silly little demonic superhero guy. Maybe if you keep drinking your milk you’ll be big enough one day to not be the object of harassment and ridicule for some cock beast from the Lake of Fire.

The frightening phallic fiend (sounds like a Scooby-Doo monster) grabs Faust in its tractor beam, but before it can eat him, Jade stabs M in the neck, causing the creature to flinch due to its apparent link with the villain. It drops our hero, allowing him to do another of his silly little hops, this time close enough to plant his talons in its soft, fleshy head. I told you it’s a mutant penis! It’s like the dickasaurus from Tromeo & Juliet! Defeated, the not-a-homunculus is sucked back into the portal from whence it came…swirling around in circles like it’s being flushed down a toilet. Fetal’s fraggin’ gizz.

John still can’t lay a claw on M though, so the bad guy hovers semi-triumphantly over the gateway, mocking the hero and vowing to send him to Hell…which didn’t work the last time! Still, Jade strikes a deal with El Diablo for John’s freedom, giving him the soul of the baby that M just planted in her nurture purse. The baddy negates JJ’s contract, only to have Jade tell him she put one over on the Great Deceiver, because her prepubescent assault didn’t just mess up her brain, it also fucked up her womb (poor choice of words?) and left her barren. M seems pretty nonplussed by this though, saying that he always puts his money on long shots. He must’ve read the unmade part of the script where we were supposed to discover (in a post-credits sequence) that Jade does wind up with a miracle spawn despite her condition. Anyway, M takes away John’s Faust powers (why didn’t he just do that in the first place?!) and declares him dead, but through sheer will and a bit of encouragement from the woman he loves, JJ finds the strength to jam his claws (the second time M should’ve just taken the fucking things away from him!) into his former boss’s digestive tract and sends him back to Hell in a wash of computer generated flames like something out of Diablo II. Maybe if M had actually tried to evade the attack rather than floating in place and just yelling “YOU’RE DEAD! I BURIED YOU!”, he could have avoided his demise. Oh well. “Hindsight’s 20/20” and all that.

To end the picture, John falls to the floor and utters another stupid artist epitaph as Jade lays on top of him and mourns his passing. To confuse matters, this is interspersed with cuts of a different scene where John’s saying the same things to Jade before he jumps from the bridge he was originally going to kill himself on following Blue’s death…so… this might’ve all been a figment of John’s delusional mind after all!? Huh. Interesting twist, I suppose. You know, in that “Newhart” kinda way…now I wish I had enough ambition to draw Bob Newhart as Faust…

Okay, wrap up time. Where to begin? I think I made it clear that I wasn’t a fan of Yuzna’s directorial decisions. I think the levity, both intentional and un, were out of place. Normally I’m okay with Yuzna’s stuff, but this just rubbed me the wrong way on this material. Stuart Gordon was supposedly pegged to direct Faust back in the ’90s when it was being shopped around. Back to Batman terms, I think we deserved something more Tim Burton-y and less Joel Schumacher-y, and Gordon probably would’ve provided that. Yet another one for the “Oh, what could have been” pile.

The acting is all horrible. Well, not all of it, just most of it. It doesn’t help that half the characters are being dubbed to cover up their no doubt heavy Spanish accents (or lack of English), but even the people using their own voices are painful to listen to. Frost is trapped somewhere between Jeremy Irons in Dungeons & Dragons and Tommy Wiseau in The Room. His scenery chewery never quite hits either extreme of “so bad, it’s good”, so it just sits meandering at “bad” for the entire movie beyond his delivery of that one sweet aforementioned line. Combs is serviceable for the most part except when watching Margolis try his awkward best to hit on Jade. It’s painful and reminds me why I only pick up victims women online during the one week a year that Geek2Geek offers me a free trial membership. Combs definitely gets higher marks once his character falls from grace and goes full evil though. I’ve been saying since From Beyond that I want to see the man play Renfield in a Dracula flick, but his brief work as evil Dan further solidifies that opinion like a cockroach in concrete.

Much like my review for Night of the Living Dead 3D: Re-Animation however, Divoff outshines my hero JC and is the real linchpin keeping this movie from disintegrating into Werewolf territory…or is it pronounced “warr-wilf”? Unlike Combs, Divoff’s role is perfect for him to be on top of his game out of the gate. The guy exhales sinister like it was smoke. He reminds me of Christopher Lee in his legendary Hammer Dracula run. High praise, I know, but I believe what I say. The man plays his roles so well that it comes off as effortless and he deserves so much more than he’s been given. It pains me that my own review limiters forbid me from doing episodes for the first two Wishmasters or either of Full Moon’s Oblivion movies, because they’re pure showcase material for this guy.

The practical and makeup effects by frequent Yuzna co-conspirator Screaming Mad George work. Everything’s got that slimy gloss to it, which works as a gross out thing, but risks portraying them as the rubbery creations they really are. The digital stuff isn’t great, but we can chalk that up to technical and/or budgetary limitations at the time. The metal music soundtrack features names I’ve heard of like Type O Negative, Sepultura, Coal Chamber, Fear Factory, Machine Head, and a Soulfly song that lauds the inclusion of Fred Durst for some fucking reason. Even in 2000 that wasn’t something to be proud of. It all sounds generic to mine non-metal detector ears, so to me it all leans less bad-ass and more cheese-ass, metaphorically stinking of Velveeta and farts. Incidentally, you can pick it up used at this Amazon link http://www.amazon.com/Faust-Various-Artists/dp/B000055YAH for the same price as your 10th spatula at the Spatula City https://youtu.be/4BUDwj_mXKE clearance sale!

Speaking of metal, today’s episode is sponsored by Pantera Bread™ – Re! Spect! Bread! WE BAKE IT FOR YOU!

As I finish this up, for those who think this entire premise sounds too much like The Crow for your tastes, stick a pinch of this factoid between your cheek and gum: Faust was published in 1987, while The Crow wasn’t published until 1989’s Caliber Presents #1. So, even if you discounted the fact that today’s feature takes its name and influence from a Medieval German legend, the vengeful anti-hero himself still predates his better known peer by a couple of years.

And for the jerk-offs who think Faust is just ripping off Spawn, Todd McFarlane didn’t drop that deuce until 1992, so sit your ass down and stop pretending you’re the fanboy you think you are, skid mark.

Speaking of the four color funnies, in 2003 DC Comics decided to cash-in on the Tokyo Drifting craze (that wouldn’t actually happen until 2006) and put out a 6 issue mini-series called “The Demon: Driven Out”, that centered around their demonic character Etrigan getting involved with the activities of a female street racer and her conflict with the Yakuza. The painted cover of the first issue (courtesy of Jo Chen) is one of my favorites.

It’s enough to make you wet , right? If there were any justice in the world, Brian Yuzna would give us a sequel to Faust that borrows heavily from that mini-series, rather than any of the other comics in Faust’s actual exploits. The resultant production could be known by no other name than The Faust and the Furious

Yes, I just spent two paragraphs of your time to shoehorn a “Faust and the Furious” pun into this review. Dropping bombs like President O-bomb-a with a fleet of drones. Baracka Barolla!

And on that note, I’ve stolen enough of your precious precious time for today. Tune in for our next episode as we partake in part two of this “Fantastic Four” reviews thing. Until then, my friend, this is the end. This is the end, my only friend. The end. Praise the Noodle Gods. Ra-men. *click*

Moral of the Story: Never dance with the Devil in the pale moonlight. Or the bright sunlight. Or any light for that matter. Unless you’re REALLY good with a fiddle. If John Jaspers had been a musician instead of a painter, he’d still be alive today.

Screenshots_____

“You remember me from my role in Cyclone? Nobody watched Cyclone! I’m pretty sure I remember the director wearing a blindfold the whole time so he didn’t need to watch it while we were making it!”


That moment when you’re trapped in a straight jacket, the inside of your nose starts itching like a motherfucker, and you realize you’re about to lose whatever sanity you have left.


Did somebody delete their icons folder by accident, or did Yuzna not wanna pay the rights fee to use the search button graphic?


You know their dark lord’s serious business when they spell out his name in all caps.


Shit! TimeWarner is really strict about their penalties for early contract terminations!


Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your bad-ass demonic hero… prematurely ejaculating, apparently.


That awkward moment when your parents walk in on you practicing your kissing on a mannequin head… while dressed like a comic book character… At least you’ll be ready for the Comic Con key party next year!


Janice Dickinson finally has too much plastic surgery.


Sure, being the star of a bukkake party sounds like fun when you’re rollin’ on a Molly high, but eventually you come down and just end up with another entry for your Regrets Journal.


Speaking of bukkake party regrets…


Hey! That cop’s got a tail light out! Somebody give him a ticket!


“I’ve been spending a lot of time at the gym blasting my abs. Can you tell?”


Excedrin headache #666


“The only way to be rid of severe emotional trauma is to replace it with different severe emotional trauma. As such, you will now watch 27 uninterrupted hours of Carrot Top stand up! It will make you a stronger person… if you survive.”

Check it out: it’s what Rush Limbaugh thinks a lesbian wedding ceremony looks like.


Next in our freak show: the most normal guy at Burning Man.


“But I made sure to order the three pronged claws! My Wolverine cosplay is ruined! Now I’ll never get laid at the Comic Con key party!”


Oh good! Nice to see Satan’s been getting some use out of that BowFlex™ I got him for Antichristmas. Another few months of that and my dude won’t have a single sleeve in his entire wardrobe!

———————————————————
———————————————————

Anubis will return next time in
“Spirit of Vengeance”

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.

Advertisements

Feature 01 – Night of the Living Dead 3D: Re-Animation (2012)

or “Jeffrey Combs Dies at the End”

Starring: Andrew “Wishmaster” Divoff , Jeffrey “Re-Animator” Combs , Sarah “Super Shark” Lieving

Director & Writer: Jeff “Dr. Rage” Broadstreet

Origin: USA

Sequel to: Night of the Living Dead 3D

Review_____

“Never a god damn zombie around when you need one!”

In choosing a movie to review for the inevitable return of this great white dope, this one made the most sense. Hell, it made so much sense; it literally jumped off of my NetFlix “Shit You’ve Subjected Yourself To” category and headbutted me. Fucking technology is getting out of hand… Anyway, though a steaming shit heap of no remorse, if you end up liking this website, you can thank NotLD3DRA (jeezus, even the acronym is a John Holmes sized mouthful) because the idea of reviewing it was the last push over my retirement cliff to send me headlong into the crashing waves of the Reviewin’ Fiords. The reason? Well my new/returned friends, they are countless several:

• It’s a Night of the Living Dead movie… well, it has “Night of the Living Dead” in the title. Let’s not shame George Romero and Dan O’Bannon’s collective legacy by pretending this is an ACTUAL NotLD movie. Anyway, what better sub-genre than a zombie flick to start off a resurrected bad movie review site?!

• It stars Jeffrey Combs. My hero. The man whose turn as Herbert West in the first Re-Animator was a big green syringe in my ass that put me on the path to “holy shit, horror flicks are awesome!” appreciation, which quickly introduced me to the realm of putting my opinions out into the world wide wasteland.

• Andrew Divoff. He’s cool too. Remember that part in Wishmaster 2 where he made that guy fuck himself? Yeah. Don’t fuck with Divoff.

• It’s bad. Dear fucking Ra is it BAD. Bad movies are the most fun to review. There’s a reason they didn’t riff good movies on the Satellite of Love. Shit like NotLD3DRA are my vice.

Describing the events of this movie are what I would imagine a rape victim goes through when they have to relive the horrors of their victimization as they tell the police officer the moment-by-moment violation of their own sense of self and security. But, at the same time, I have to relay my nightmare to you, the audience, in a way that’s entertaining. How to do so… how to do so… hmmmm… it’s been a few years, but how about this: Night of the Living Dead 3D: Re-Animation invokes the same “just had my guts torn out through my belly button” feeling of pain and emptiness I went through when I saw Miley Cyrus maltreating herself in front of millions with a foam finger, with her body spasming and her face contorting like a mentally retarded 6 year-old who discovered her vagina for the first time. The veil of innocence and goodness the world had once been draped with, had been snatched away, leaving only the festering, depressing truth, contoured by legions of writhing maggots, squirming and seething with the sounds of my very soul oozing away into a mire from which it would never be clean or pure again… It was like some eldritch horror of pure sadness worming its tentacles up my nose and into my brain, where it laid eggs. Those eggs hatched, and the terrors they bore burrowed through my ocular orbs (i.e. eyeballs), saw what I was watching, and immediately died…

Okay, I’m going overboard and overblown. I’m just getting back into the proverbial swing of this stuff and haven’t quite re-established my balance. The tightrope over the hyperbole hole takes a lot of practice to navigate and I’m holding on by my last talon here. Seriously though, I’ve bowed down and bared my soft underbelly in supplication to malicious unforgiving hell beasts like Demonicus and Jack-O and Ankle Biters. If I can scale those mountains of madness, I can find my way through this shit-shrubbery maze with my head held high and my dick firmly in my hand, damn it! Eye of the tiger, mouth of a teamster! Eye of the tiger, mouth of a teamster! FUCK YOU JEFF BROADSTREET! If my metaphorical poop chute can survive the sphinctoral sufferings beset upon him by the likes of Charles Band and Adam Minarovich, then it’s gonna bite your desiccated little meat stump of a movie RIGHT THE FUCK OFF!

And so, with 4 or 5 nonsensical preliminary paragraphs of introduction out of the way, let’s dispense with the pleasantries and ride this rampaging turd rocket right into the toilet of forgotten cinematic history where it belongs! SALLY FORTH!

Before we get started (this is about the movie, I promise), did you know there was a Night of the Living Dead remake? And no, I’m NOT talking about the Tom Savini one, which looks like the Romero original in comparison to that 30th anniversary re-edit abomination that Anchor Bay should’ve aborted the moment the idea was conceived, which looks like the Savini remake in comparison to what is known as Night of the Living Dead 3-D… which, in turn, looks like a rabid mandrill raping a puppy to death in comparison to even the shittiest of the later Dead entries… starring Sid Haig (who will be playing the part of Jeff Broadstreet) as the mandrill!… and the zombie genre as the puppy. Awwww, poor puppy. 😦

NotLD3D was, as everyone pretty much expected, a crap orgy. Poop and shame everywhere. But, Sid Haig probably needed the money, and sometimes you gotta rape some puppies to pay the rent… or buy groceries… or buy a bottle of Tenafly Viper so you can melt to death in a toilet like a common hobo and retain a modicum of whatever dignity you have left… sorry Sid. Tough love.


(Sid Haig invests the paycheck from his latest role)

I’m sorry folks, but I think I’m subconsciously trying to avoid getting to the review. I’m now hypnotizing myself to overwhelm that damn “fight or flight” response and will proceed with the movie in 3…. 2…….. 1….. SLEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! I mean, REVIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW!

Gerald (Divoff) and Harold (Combs) Tovar are brothers. Brothers with stupid rhymy names. Brothers who aren’t the best of friends (probably because their parents saddled them with stupid fucking rhymy names), but put up with each other out of that weird “family obligations” thing that I never understood. Their dad, Gerald Sr., was the proprietor of the Tovar & Son Mortuary until his untimely passing. Gerald Jr. inherited the family biz and discovered that dear ol’ dad had been disposing of chemical waste and “failed biological experiments” for big kickbacks since the ‘60s. Though Gerry Jr. immediately put a stop to the family’s side income, he did so AFTER being stuck with a few body bags full of Uncle Sam’s science snafus. Turns out Gerry’s also a pyrophobic, so he can’t bring himself to operate the cremation furnace, which means he’s been piling bodies up in the mortuary basement since taking the place over! A mortician who can’t cremate bodies?! It’s a recipe for WACKINESS! Hyuk hyuk! Woot woot wooooooooo! BLART!

Naturally, adding bags of zombie ooze to a basement that’s starting to look like it was owned by Pol Pot can only lead to disaster (a few dozen rotting corpses isn’t disaster enough?!), but before we get to the inevitable ghoul-a-go-go showdown, there’s a bunch of other shit we need to wade through first. Harry went off to make his own fortune elsewhere, and has only now returned to try and get his share of the family business, or a financial equivalent thereof. He reveals his scheme later on (I’ll leave that to you to find out, in case you get a self-abuse urge), but the majority of his time through the first 70min of the movie is spent dialoging it up with his big brother. Gerry tells Harry about the zombies, Harry calls bullshit, and then goes along with it because he’s a Tea Partier and is ready to believe any fairy tale as long as it has some kind of government conspiracy super glued to its ass. Broadstreet decides these conversations would be a great time to show off his geek cred by slapping us in the face with a wet red snapper (“Verrrrrrry tasty!”)’s worth of nods to the Romero original trilogy. First by having Harry BLATANTLY refer to the movie’s titular shamblers as “Romero zombies!” (*BLART!*), then much more subtly by having him read off the years and locations of said movies (including the Savini remake and Return of the Living Dead) as being incidents during which these failed government gropings of Mother Nature are rumored to have occurred…

Wait. Hold up a second. So, in this world, George Romero’s movies not only exist, but the release years of said movies ALSO happen to coincide with government zombie outbreaks?! FUCK YOUR KIDNEYS TILL YOU PISS BLOOD, JEFF BROADSTREET!

While Gerry Jr. descends further into madness and tries to keep the family legacy (which I noticed is oddly lacking in female components…) from going down the one way road to Crap Town (by killing the occasional zombies as they rise and somehow managing to keep the stench of a basement FULL of festering cadavers from catching the nasal attention of the staff or the local townsfolk), and Harry works on a way to exploit said madness to pay off what I’m assuming is a scratch-off lottery ticket addiction, the mortuary’s other employees… do stuff. There’s Aunt Louise, who just sits around watching Fix’d News (har har); Hot Topic cast-off and corpse fucker DyeAnn (sadly, none of that previous statement is a typo); Russell the irresponsible slacker handyman-ish type; and Cristie (Sarah Lieving) the fresh faced new girl, who picked the WRONG day to start her new job! Recipe! Wackiness! DINGLE-DOOP!

These supporting characters do pretty much nothing. Eventually they serve as corpse chow, they say and contribute nothing of importance, and they have one awful scene straight out of a ‘50s “educational” film where they smoke weed and do ecstasy and have completely unwarranted hallucinations (Evil Bong flashback! EVIL BONG FLASHBACK!) where a nekkid cadaver gets off their embalming table and sparks up a doobie with them before Dye humps his rigor mortisized junk pile… with her underwear on… Fuck. You. Jeff. Broad. Fucking. Street.

Due to Harry’s Tea Party leanings, naturally the movie has to have a Sarah Palin parody character called Sister Sara… because I guess there was still some sinew and meat hanging from that dead horse and Jeff Broadstreet thought it’d be fun to try and beat it off… the meat, not the horse… the meat on the horse, NOT the horse’s “meat”… I’m all up for the maiming and mutilation of the real thing, but Tina Fay perfected the Palin caricature. It was the only worthwhile thing she’s ever done. It never needs to be done by anyone else ever again! Anyway, SS too ends up at the funeral home at the worst possible time thanks to a broken down car, and she too becomes a mindless zombie… and I think there’s a joke in there somewhere about brain eating… cuz she doesn’t have one… or she’s already a zombie… cuz she’s a tea bagger… maybe? I stopped caring and I suggest you do the same.

It all comes to a sputtering, awkward, poorly acted, “we ran out of budget”, naked hedgehog (i.e. pointless) finale that just serves as the rat dropping sprinkles on this turd frosted crapcake. Gerry has a final stand off against the remaining re-animated that consists of Divoff standing in front of a green screen and pretending to fire a shotgun a few dozen times before finishing with one of the most needless and contrived endings I’ve seen in YEARS. The end. My time would’ve been better spent letting Anne Coulter funnel fire ants into my rectum (DAMN NEAR KILLED ‘EM!) while Louie Anderson carpet-bombed my face with boiled egg farts.

Actually, scratch that. The one redeeming factor of this movie, the solitary thing that keeps it from being labeled as unsafe for human consumption and being banned by the FDA, is Andrew Divoff. Whereas Jeffrey Combs is practically a non-factor, and plays his part with a “you have to at least show up and read the lines to get paid” ambition that saddens me as a long time fan of the Combs Monster, Divoff puts forward way more talent than the paycheck deserves. He plays Gerald with an odd balance of Southern Gentlemantality with a borderline Vincent Price-ian creep charm, all backed by just enough intensity and “man watching his entire life slip away into madness” pathos to earn him (and by default, the movie) one whole heart rating. If he weren’t onscreen as much as he was (not that any of that time would’ve been used to actually DEVELOP any of the ancillary characters anyway), this could’ve been another Demonicus. Instead, it just ends up being “Why Andrew Divoff Should Have a Better Career than He Does: the Movie”.

Getting Andrew Divoff in your movie doesn’t excuse you by a long shot, Jeff Broadstreet! Get your ass over here for chewing out. Being a zombie nerd who’s seen a few movies does NOT qualify you to make one, let alone two, let alone BOTH of which carry the moniker “Night of the Living Dead” in their titles! If you were half the zombie fan you make yourself out to be with your scripts, you’d release your bowel movements under their own titles and cut out the heresy. All your little call backs to better movies (especially the Return of the Living Dead story and character elements, and using “Re-Animation” in your title as a *wink*wink* that you have the star of Re-Animator) only serve to remind us that we should be watching those movies instead. Also, your zombies and gore sucked. Most of the makeup was passable (except for that PATHETIC “broken jaw” zombie thing you were attempting to pull off at the end), but the extras playing the zombies were a joke. And not a funny joke, but the sad kind. Like, “Why did the shoe salesman lose his job? Cuz he lost his legs in a horrible car accident… along with his wife… and now has to raise their 3 young children alone… *rimshot*”. THAT kind of joke.

Rather than invoking menace, your big zombie jamboree finale invoked boredom as the ghouls aimlessly mill around like some endless game of Living Dead Musical Chairs that didn’t have any fucking chairs! Also, if you have a special effects budget that you need to delegate to either squibs and rubber limbs, or community college levels of computer generated gore, if you opt for the latter, just stop trying to make movies immediately. Go home, take a long shower, and reconsider the choices you’ve made in life. Then, wash down a box of rat poison with a bottle of Clorox, because the only people you’ll ever be of any use to are the fucking community college drop outs making these not-so-special effects on their laptops that YOU’RE providing with work.

Thanks for the wake-up call, Jeff Broadstreet. If I’d known you were soiling the world with your own special brand of digital brain cancer, I might never have given up movie reviewing in the first place. But also, fuck you Jeff Broadstreet. I hope Dan O’Bannon comes back from Hell just to piss ghost acid into your mouth while you’re gargling, every morning for the rest of your life. Movie cameras are meant to be magical machines that bring creativity and talent to life, not colostomy bags to fill with your SHIT. Damn it, my first review back and I’ve already made another mortal enemy. Seriously though, fuck you Jeff Broadstreet. Again. Repeatedly. If you don’t die ravaged and hollowed out by Ebola and acid ghost piss, then the concept of “justice” is the sickest hoax ever played upon the world.

The Moral of the Story: Evil triumphs when good men do nothing. Stuff like this movie happen maybe, just maybe, because I’ve been sitting on my ass the last 3 ½ years rather than using it to rain down brown napalm on those who deserve it.

Screenshots_____

Gossip icon Perez Hilton died today… nobody cared.


He’s the test tube child of Vincent Price and John Waters!


That moment Jeffrey Combs realizes he probably
should’ve said ‘yes’ to House of Re-Animator


“Have you ever fantasized… about being KILLED?”


NOW it’s a horror movie!


“If that Broadstreet a-hole ever approaches me with another
contract, one of us isn’t gonna see the next sunrise.”


Jeff Broadstreet just comes straight out and
shows the audience how he feels about them.


“I don’t need a coroner to tell me that
this guy obviously died while rocking.”


The answer to “Whatever happened to
Mimi from ‘The Drew Carey Show‘?”.


Man! Gushers really ARE bursting with fruit flavor!

Click the Box Art for an Easter Egg ;)

Anubis will return next time in
“Business is my business, and business is good… BUSINESS!”

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.