Feature 61 – The Raid 2 (2014)

or “Undercover Boogaloo”

Featuring: Iko “Merantau” Uwais , Arifin “Macabre” Putra , Alex “Rokkap” Abbad

Writer & Director: Gareth “The Raid” Evans

Origin: Indonesia

Also Known As: The Raid: Retaliation , The Raid 2: Berandal

Sequel to: The Raid: Redemption

Review_____

“If the worst thing that happens during your time with us is that you suffer the indignity of an old man seeing your cock, then I’d say you got off light.”

Yep, I decided to stick around Indonesia for an extra week and knock out The Raid 2 while I’m here. I will neither confirm nor deny the rumors that I’m still here because a giant shark leapt from the ocean and ate my private helicopter, as that’s a matter for my insurance company to decide. Instead, let’s talk about Raid Harder and get this undercover boogaloo underway!

Oh. Uhm, before we get started, despite my best efforts to keep the twists and results of the first movie unspoiled, the simple act of reviewing this sequel is going to require that I undo my own efforts. So, if you don’t want me to pull the thread and unravel the poorly stitched monstrosity that was my Raid: Redemption episode, I suggest you take Lord Humungus’ advice and “Just walk away.” At least until you get a chance to watch the first one.

Are they gone? Cool. Now, everyone reading beyond this point has either seen the first flick or doesn’t give a dry hump about seeing a cheat sheet for it, right? Cuz even though I’m still restricted from typing word one about anything that could prematurely hasten the sequel’s “Sell By” date, I will be turning some MAJOR events of the original into a mold maligned mess in a matter of moments, starting……..now: – Jakartan SWAT team rookie Rama (played by real life Silat martial arts champion Iko Uwais) survived the eponymous raid upon the apartment complex from Hell. Crimelord-turned-slumlord Tama’s fortress of operations made him seemingly untouchable, but Rama’s Jenga™ game (and the help of his brother Andi) was just too legendary to withstand, and Tama’s Tower was toppled.

Well, supercop Ramadan is back. Picking up almost immediately where the previous film left off, our hero has uncovered the terminal cancer of corruption in the Jakartan justice system that allowed Tama to operate unabated. Upon Andi’s advice, he gets in touch with a man named Bunawar (Cok Simbara), who is one of the last corruption-free cops left on the police force. With a few of his trusted men, BunWarmer has the injured Bowo (yeah, he survived too) taken to a safe hospital, feng shuis captured traitor Lieutenant Wahyu’s brains outside of his skull, and recruits Rammy into their small operation of on-the-level officers. He promises to protect Rama’s wife and son-to-be but wants to send the Raid-er of the last arc (har har) undercover. The plan is to get him deep enough into cahoots with the syndicate that he can get the names of all the pigs on the bad guys’ payroll and flush ’em out fiercer than the trans-dimensional warp toilet that took Mario and Luigi to the Mushroom Kingdom in “The Super Mario Bros. Super Show” intro.

While Ram considers whether he wants to get this dedicated to his work or not, brother Andi (Donny Alamsyah) gets wasted by underworld figure Bejo (Alex Abbad), who plans on overtaking Jakarta as its new kingpin once current head bad guy Bangun (Tio Pakusodewo) is removed from power…or gets his face blown off. Whichever happens first. According to Bejo, Andi apparently pulled an Icarus and let his ambitions carry his ass too close to the sun when he succeeded his previous employer Tama, following his death in the prior flick. Unlike Tama, Andi didn’t know well enough to know his role, shut his mouth, and smell what The Rock was cookin’. He dipped his finger in the brownie batter and ends up on the receiving end of a Nicky Santoro Special as a result. Don’t get it? No, it’s not a sandwich. Or a sex act. Go watch Casino. Joe Bob Briggs has a cameo! I’ll wait.

Before we get back to progressing with our protagonist, here’s the quick-and-dirty on the Jakartan underbelly. As mentioned, Bangun (which is presumably more powerful than a ban hammer) runs half of the city, while the other 50%’s governing faction is a family of ne’er-do-well Yakuza from Japan known as the Goto. If you need bad things done and laws broken, you might say they’re your “go to guys”… After which you’ll likely be stabbed in the stomach for making the same gut groaningly bad pun they’ve no doubt heard more times than Connor MacLeod’s katana was folded. The two sides have been at peace for the last decade, staying out of each other’s business. Crime and let crime. They each have their own bribery deals with the police, headed by the evil Commisioner Reza (Roy Martin), who’s the big fish BunBun is hoping to land with Rama’s help, provided that he agrees. Which I’ll bet he does, otherwise we wouldn’t have much of a movie.

And what is Bun’s means to his end? Ram Man’s going to prison under the alias of Yuda: a nobody from nowhere that nobody knows about. Yep, our big man’s going to the big house. Once there, it’s his job to get in good with ‘Gun’s sole son, Uco (Arifin Putra), which may or may not be short for “Yucko”. It’s never really addressed. To make sure Rammstein catches the bad guy’s eye right out of the gate, the crime he gets arrested for is beating the shit out of the son of the politician who got Ucky put there in the first place. Like any good actor, what’s Rama’s motivation for beating said offspring’s ass? He works with Bejo. Yeah, after seeing what this guy did to all those machete assholes a la Redemption, I wouldn’t want to be in the British Knights© of anybody under the employ of the guy who shotgunned Andi’s face straight into a shallow grave.

Ramrod goes through with the plan, kicking the shit out of the senator’s son (not such a “fortunate one” now, eh?) and getting himself incarcerated. When trying to get the attention of the major players in the clink, it doesn’t hurt to single-handedly take on fifteen guys in a toilet at once (in a fight, not a gangbang, ya perverts), which Rama does to moderate success. Punching out the biggest guy in the place? Not good enough when you’re doing time in the Eastern Hemisphere! You don’t cripple at least 5 guys in the first hour, you may as well get “fuck hole” tattooed around your mouth. Peacocking his titanium beach balls makes our hero the number one draft on wanna-be-Greaser haired Uco’s recruiting drive, especially given that he needs all the protection he can get what with his high profile status.

The two hit it off (kinda), and before you know it we FF>> a pair of calendars to Rama finishing out his sentence. The since freed Uco greets him at the prison gates and ushers him back into the fresh air of freedom, immediately taking his new BFF to meet dear old dad. After some awkward introductions and a getting a new set of threads, Rams is tasked by Bangun (seriously, his name sounds like an Ultraman villain!) to babysit Uco, making sure his brash, youthful aspirations don’t make the lad too big for his britches and put him on the wrong side of the wrong people. Speaking of the wrong people, Bejo’s consolidated his power enough to get some attention by the bosses, and may be eyeing his own ill-fitting pair of Dockers.

Our main man falls by the wayside for the middle piece of the movie, as the focus shifts to all of the basic crime movie political stuff: factions pitting factions against one another, struggles for power, illicit activities, peace treaties, backroom scheming, assassinations and so on. Rama’s really just there to keep Uco from killing karaoke call girls for this section. He comes back adamantium hard for the final act though, breaking limbs, splitting lips, and cracking skulls like ass kicking is his business and he’s having a clearance sale! There’s even a cool (albeit it oddly music deprived) car chase sequence that’s pretty damn spiffy, along with some righteous fisticuffs between Big Hero Ram and the movie’s trio of gimmick antagonists (credited as “Hammer Girl”, “Baseball Bat Man”, and “The Assassin”). It’s some of the best action I’ve seen since Set gave that classroom full of 1st graders PCP and duct taped razorblades to their fists! Every one of them got an A+ that day, I tell you. Except little Duncan. Poor kid never learned to guard his left…

Speaking of psychotic violence for personal enjoyment, for anyone (like myself) who was a big fan of Yayan Ruhian’s “homeless man murder machine” Mad Dog from Redemption, Ruhian returns for the sequel as Prakoso: the homeless man murder machine who works as the personal assassin for Bangun and family, and has done so for so long that Uco calls him uncle. ‘Oso is far more humanized than Mad Dog was (no surprise, since his name was Mad Dog, after all. Duh.), doesn’t share his antecedent’s predilection for unassisted conflict, and manages to look even more like an unwashed hobo. I can’t wait to see him pop up in The Raid 3 dressed like Jed Clampett and wielding a bindle like some crazy-ass Boxcar Willie Chan! That’s a joke that completely shits the bed since Willie Chan was Jackie Chan’s talent agent-slash-co-producer and not a performer. Fuck. Moving on!

This was originally intended to be Evans’ sophomore feature following his debut picture, Merantau, but as a barely proven writer-director at the time, the Welshman had to put it on the backburner and come up with the much more thrifty Redemption first to prove that he was indeed worthy of his original dream’s asking price. It became an international hit and Indonesia’s highest grossing movie of all time (a statistic I just pulled out of my ass, so I wouldn’t quote it if I were you), and as such, Raid 2 was born. The only problem here is that this is only tangentially a sequel. Not a shock, as it was written first and not intended to be a follow-up, but the idea of a rookie SWAT officer thrown directly into an undercover operation grates my cheese. I guess NetFlix training by sitting through half-a-dozen similar movies is enough to get by in the Jakartan crime world.

There’s obviously more story here, so the action isn’t as nonstop as before. But, as I said in the last review, Evans’ strong point isn’t writing, so adding more story and script to the formula does him few favors. Sadly, barring a few exceptions, if you’ve seen one undercover-pig flick you’ve pretty much seen them all. As well-versed in fighting chops as the cast is, they’re not a shade on Donnie Brasco when it comes to acting chops, nor is the tale half as intriguing and well twisted as Infernal Affairs (or its ‘Merican-izing, The Departed). I’m far from being a crime fiction fanboy, but I could smell the (french) twists on this one coming like Nozone can smell Junkyard taking his morning shit in the backyard 5 minutes before he even squats.

That reference is probably gonna require a Google or two, so don’t feel bad if it sounds like I was speaking Aramaic for a minute there.

Not wanting to sacrifice what got him this far to begin with, Evans still puts plenty of bang-pow into his movie. As a result though, the runtime on R the Deuce hits a harder to swallow 2.5 hours. Blame my underdeveloped gag reflex if you like, but 150 minutes for something like this is a bit much. The original cut came in at something short of 4 hours though, which is probably the stuff they’re going to Frankenstein Raid 3 out of. As much as Mr. Evans knows how to shoot a fight scene too, there are needless bits of shaky cam during non-action scenes, as if he’s got some kinda hyperactive disorder and can’t let the camera stand still for more than a few minutes at a time. It kinda kills the drama of the moment when you’re too busy getting dizzy to stay engaged. Oh well. Still not as amateurish and off-putting as Michael Bay’s bowel movie-ments.

As a guy who cites Jackie Chan, John Woo, and Sam Peckinpah as his action objects of idolatry, it’s nice to see Evans make movies that would do them proud. He also does the classic “director who’s also a fanboy” thing and puts in a few nods to other movies while he’s at it, including a *wink*wink* to Oldboy and a *nudge*nudge* to Versus. Shit, he even drops a reference to his freshman feature Merantau, since Rama’s alias Yuda was also Uwais’ character’s name. Pretty sneaky, Sis.

On a whole, The Raid 2 is a groovy slab of movie. Though he won’t win any writing awards, Gareth Evans is still a stellar action guy. He may be one of the best fight choreographers in the world! I probably won’t watch this again without doing the Fast Forward Fandango to soak in the beautiful brutality and glorious goriness, but my complaints are limited. Bring on the finale to the trilogy!

Before I go, I’d like to give every moviemaker ever a bit of solid advice: do something incredibly memorable and parody worthy with your movie’s subtitle. Don’t do something so generic as “The Revenge” or “The Final Chapter”, but do something that will make people remember your movie years after everyone has forgotten what the fuck it was or who starred in it or even if it was good or not. Truly unforgettable subtitles like “The Legend of Curly’s Gold” or “The Destruction of Jared-Syn” or, the inspiration for today’s alternate title, “Electric Boogaloo”. Trust me, I’ve never even seen Breakin’ 2, but I’d have to be subjected to some fucking Manchurian Candidate level brain rape before I ever forget something like “Electric Boogaloo”. Hell, it’ll probably be my activation code when I become a sleeper cell agent!

Moral of the Story: Mud wrestling’s not nearly as arousing when it’s being done by 50 guys in a prison yard.

Screenshots_____

No matter which continent you’re on, “douche bag” is a universal language.


“Uggh! Was that you?! Have you been eating brussel sprouts lately, or did something just crawl up your ass and die?!”


“You may not have noticed, but my hair is beginning to thin slightly. Where do you stand on the ‘keep it natural’ vs. ‘shave it’ debate?”


“You’ve failed this city.”


Looks like the Taco Bell men’s room after Fifty Cent Burrito Happy Hour.


“Can I interest you in some of my homemade ‘Jailhouse Rockin’ hair gel? I mix it in my cell toilet. Just 7 cigarettes for an all-day hold you can depend on!”


Woodstock ’99: the Morning After


Indonesian Bruce Campbell!


“Pfttt! I pay an extra dollar for the Premium Alpo© and it tastes the same as the regular stuff! Waste of money.”


“If you EVER eat the last S’Mores Pop Tart again, I will make it so you spend the rest of your life sitting down to pee. Do you hear me!?”


“No! Please! I had to save up 6 months pay to FINALLY buy this Incredible Hulk #181! It’s the last book I needed to complete my Wolverine collection! DON’T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME!”


They’re practicing the new men-only partner yoga – Broga.


“I’m telling you, man, if you bend your fingers up like this when you’re doing it, you’ll hit the g-spot every time! It drives the women CRAZY!”

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Anubis will return next time in
“What’s Eating Gilbert Chan?”

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.

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Feature 32 – Halloween (2007)

or “The Shape of Things to Come (Looks Kinda Like William Shatner)”

Featuring: Scout “The Runaways” Taylor-Compton , Malcolm “A Clockwork Orange” McDowall , Sherri “The Devil’s Rejects” Moon Zombie , and Tyler “X-Men” Mane as Michael Myers

Director: Rob “The Devil’s Rejects” Zombie

Writer: Rob “The Devil’s Rejects” Zombie

Origin: USA

Review_____

“I’ll be a shitstorm in your worst nightmare, motherfucker!”

And here we are, the final volley of “Shake, Bake, & Remake: Series 1”. This is the end, my friend. My only friend. The end. I probably saved Halloween for last because, if you couldn’t tell by the rating I gave it, it’s the best movie of the group by a large margin. A large-and-in-charge margin. A “’large’ like Large Marge” margin. Ze margin? She is large. It’s way better than any of the crusty turds I found when sifting through the cinematic cat box that is Platinum Dunes, for certain. Now, I already did a short review for this movie back on the old site, but it was a short subject and thus ineligible for re-editing as a “Rerun” review. Instead, I will be recycling much of what worked in said bite-size criticism for use in this article. Appropriate given the theme of the last month’s work!

Let me get this little statement out of the way before we get underway: I’m not Hindu, so no cow is sacred to me. I just clogged my arteries with the greasy seared flesh and blood of a big double-cheeseburger before I started typing this up. As such, I don’t care what topic it is or how many people love it; if you put anything in front of me I’ll be perfectly happy to dissect it, roll it through breading, fry it up and eat that sucker for dinner. Some people aren’t so quick to agree with this lifestyle though. A number of those people see John Carpenter’s original Halloween, then immediately drop to their knees and start tossing flowers in front of its path in prayer for its safe journey. Fuck that. However, at the same time, don’t confuse me as being anti-Halloween ’78 because I think it’s “cool” to piss on popular movies. I’d rather shiv a hipster and jump rope with his entrails than deride something just because it’s popularly bandied around as a classic. Don’t jump to conclusions. If there’s one thing I hate (of the few thousand things I would rather see awash in napalm than have to accept the existence of) it’s dickheads and she-dickheads that jump to conclusions. I am anti-Halloween ’78, but because I just don’t like it as a movie.

Just because his initials are J.C. doesn’t mean John Carpenter should be getting his ego stroked like he’s the bastard spawn of Jehovah. If Carpenter himself had came up to me with his movie about a random masked killer stabbing teens and lugging around headstones for no apparent reason while tacking 200+lb men up to rickety little pantry doors with nothing more than a butcher knife, I’d just look at him and ask why I should bother. “But it’s just oozing with suspense, sir! It’s an amazing assault on the senses and my very minimalist piano-synthesizer score is icing on the cake!” No, dick brain (may I call you “dick brain”?), it’s really not. Who keeps telling you this is a good thing? It seems more to me like lazy storytelling and a simplistic slasher flick that people are just trying to sell as this astonishing allegory of cinematic greatness packed with more edge-of-your-seat suspense than the best of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents”. I’d like to say it’s just because slasher movies were a new thing back then (and yes, I acknowledge Black Christmas, so shut it) and people were easier to impress, but I’ve been dumbstruck by people younger than I (usually jerking each other off in the back of Hot Topic) that think, for whatever reason, Halloween is something special. That it’s better than every gimmick slasher movie franchise that’s come since its release, despite its string of dick cheese (dick string cheese?) sequels. Though Season of the Witch is a fantastic movie (again, shut it). In the 20 years (and dozen or so other Carpenter movies) since I first watched it, I still don’t understand the nerd lust. If I were a more egocentric death deity, I’d say the people on Carpenter’s dick are all stupid and useless. But, everyone’s entitled to an opinion. Keep that in mind while you’re thinking of how to word the hate mail some of you send me when I your babies to the dingos like this.

Anyway, here’s what it comes down to: I like my killers with a background. I like understanding my monsters instead of just being satisfied watching them gut people for no apparent reason. It’s a weirdly acceptable trope for most generic ’80s slasher movies about the nerd/janitor/retard/hobo who gets burned with fire/acid by a group of teens/campers/bullies and comes back horribly scarred for a murder revenge tour of dollar store blood and butcher shop entrails. But it’s acceptable because most of those movies are never seen by casual viewers’ eyes, or completely forgotten by most of those who have. When your slasher is hailed as a high water/slaughter mark for the genre, I expect a bit more than “he was an evil boy and now he’s an evil man”. This is where Rob Zombie’s remake takes a different fork in the proverbial road and makes itself something more than just a copy and paste work up with a high-def coat of paint and modernized boob jobs.

Speaking of modernized shit, Zombie isn’t exactly clear about the time period this flick takes place in. When we first set our feet into the writer-director’s rendition of Haddonfield, Illinois, everything feels very ’70s. The music, the clothing, the hair, the cars. Everything. But that’s apparently just because Rob Zombie’s entire life exists in a ’70s sleaze culture aesthetic dimension, because this is actually October 31st, 1992. Anyway, let’s meet the Myers family! Haddonfield citizens that are so white trash, they could only have been born from a team-up of Tennessee Williams, John Waters, and a gallon of Wild Turkey. Matriarch Debbie (Sheri Zombie) works the strip club stage at night while trying her best to be a good mom during the day. Stepfather Ronnie White (William Forsythe, Daniel Day Lewis-ing the shit out of the “scumbag stepparent” role! ) is a crippled drunk who treats his step kids pretty much like every stepfather did in the ’70s. Eldest child Judy dresses like jailbait and has a rep at school as a receptacle for her male classmates’ surplus protein supplies. Baby Boo (played by more babies than Michelle freakin’ Tanner) is…a baby. And lastly, we have middle child Michael (Daeg Faerch, whose family apparently named him after a random handful of tiles drawn from a Scrabble bag). Mikey’s the kind of kid who’s always getting into trouble at school, has an unhealthy interest in dissecting animals (while they’re still alive) and likes to casually wear a cheap plastic clown mask in his spare time, because kids are weird no matter what decade they’re from.

The school principal (Richard Lynch in all his evil old man glory) calls in mommy to tell her about the uncovered evidence of little Mikey’s butchering of the poor, innocent, furry things and suggests that she hand him over to hot shot psychologist Dr. Samuel Loomis (Malcolm McDowell), who’s got that groovy “Donald Sutherland in Animal House” liberal college professor vibe going on. When he overhears the conversation, our boy Mikey storms off and eats a whole bowl of Life cereal. Not really. He actually runs off and beats the school bully to death with a tree branch that must’ve been partially petrified given the number of times he lays into the jerk off. The scene’s equal parts, “Yeah! Fuck that shithead up!” for those of us who were ever picked on growing up, and “Okay, that’s a little uncomfortable…” when the beating goes on for a while and the kid’s left with a bloody face crying and begging for mercy. I mean, I wouldn’t have stopped smashing his face in either, but having been a victim twice (and only twice…*menacing pause*) I’m all for bludgeoning bullies to death. Anyway, this is the point of no return for Mikey. Once you’ve graduated from killing four-legged furry critters to killing bipedal hairless (mostly) ones, the law kinda steps in and school counseling isn’t really an option anymore. So, before the cops discover his victim’s body (and have to identify him with dental records), our hero(?) heads home, goes out trick-or-treating, eats some candy, then goes about killing everybody in the house. Ronnie’s respiratory proficiency is greatly increased by the second mouth carved into his throat with a butcher knife, Judy’s boyfriend’s brains paint the kitchen floor courtesy of an aluminum bat (this is why you never call a kid “squirt”), and Judy herself gets a creepy incesty post-coitus leg tickle (barf) from her little brother (now wearing the series traditional William Shatner mask, introduced earlier by the aforementioned boyfriend) before Mikey installs a buncha new blood spigots in her with his stabbing utensil. Afterward, the junior psycho gathers up his baby sis and heads out to the front stoop to await Momma’s return from work. Nothing tops off a night of being leered at by perverts like coming home to find that your son has just violently murdered three people, leaving you the one that constantly needs their diaper changed and spends most of their time screaming and clawing at your tits… no, not Ronnie. I meant the baby.

The media shitstorm that follows would call the middle schooler’s killing spree “Manson-like in its viciousness”. When all was said and done with the most expensive trial in Haddonfield’s judicial history, young Michael would end up at the Smith’s Grove Sanitarium (a word that you can’t not hear in James Hetfield’s voice) some 100 or so miles away, under the care of… yep, Sammy Loomis. During their earliest session, Mikey tells Fruit of the Loomis that he doesn’t remember anything about murdering half his family, then claims he had nothing to do with the carnage. He even goes so far as to ask his mom if everyone at home’s okay, meaning the kid’s either be a huge liar or a brain fried maniac. Aside from Samwise Loomgee, the closest person Mike could call a friend at The Grove is kindly old Mexican janitor Ismael (Danny Trejo). Having spent some time behind concrete walls (and bars) himself, Ish recommends that Mikey lose himself in his imagination rather than let his surroundings drive him further down the tracks to Crazyville Junction. This advice only feeds the kid’s already unhealthy interest in masks (to hide his “ugly face”, which I have to admit, isn’t exactly Flinstone Kids spokeschild material), and his “room” (i.e. cell) eventually becomes a goddamn arts & crafts fair of handmade masks. Hell, if he keeps it up another 20 years Etsy will become a thing and he could make a fortune!

Despite mom making weekly visits and Loomis acting almost as much the compassionate father figure as he does the kid’s therapist, Mike sinks further into the quagmire (giggidy) of his own insanity. When he’s not brooding in silence behind his false faces, he’s having screaming rage fits. Loomis deems him “A ghost. A mere shape of a human being.” While this downward spiral continues, the good doctor documents his progress (or lack thereof) in a series of clinically sterile films that give an entirely opposite impression of the more nurturing facade he shows the lad in their sessions. Makes you wonder if Samuel Illoomisnati is more concerned with actually trying to understand Michael to help him, or just so he can be a big dick amidst his peers in the head shrinking community.

After one of mom’s visits, the little wide awake nightmare’s left alone with a nurse (Cybil Danning!) in the cafeteria while Sammy walks Deb to her car. Seeing a picture of Mikey holding Boo, the nurse makes the moviedom kiss of death by remarking that Boo is too cute to be his sister and turning her back to him. If you’re stupid enough to call a pint-sized multi-murderer “ugly” and turn your back to him while he’s within arms reach of a fork, you deserve the repeated stabbings to the neck that you’re guaranteed to receive. And she does. And that’s the straw that break’s Debbie’s brain. She goes home, watches family movies of happier times, cries the tears of a mother whose little boy turned out to be a serial killer, then gives her old friend Smith N. Wesson a Cobain Blowjob (also know as “Sucking Off the Saturday Night Special”).

15 years later, Micheal (who’s become Tyler Mane) has spent the majority of his life in lock-up and taken a straight up vow of silence since mom’s suicide. He’s also grown large and wide somehow, but it’s never explained whether he took up weightlifting as a secondary hobby in between mask crafting sessions, if he’s just a freak-of-nature man colossus, or if the local water supply is in the direct path of the waste run-off from the local bovine growth hormone factory. As for Loomis, he retires from the hospital so he can publish a book (and go on a national speaking tour) based around his time studying Myers that labels the mute galoot the purest definition of a psychopath ever to walk his bloody footprints across the face of the Earth. While mister big shot psychoanalyst’s off signing autographs and sleeping with a new psych school groupie every night, things go all to shit back at Smith’s Grove. In a drunken rape stupor, one of the scum suck late night janitors calls in his equally scum suck cousin so they can “break in” one of the new female incarcerees like Ned Beatty in Deliverance. Here’s where the dingleberries earn themselves a Darwin Award – they decide to do the deed in Micheal’s room, on Micheal’s bed, while wearing some of Micheal’s masks, as Micheal is sitting within arm’s reach, all while yelling at Michael and calling him a faggot. In the history of stupid fucking redneck ideas, this one ranks right up there with putting toxic waste in your moonshine and “Larry the Cable Guy’s Christmas Spectacular”.

To say these good ol’ boys get what they deserve (both from a moral standpoint and an evolutionary one) would be an understatement, as Michael kills the duo with his bare hands. No longer confined to his quarters, Myers makes the term “graveyard shift” a literal reality (or “litereality”) and murders the sanitarium’s entire late night skeleton crew (another term he makes truth). To prove to the audience that Loomis is correct in diagnosing Micheal a remorseless killing machine (maybe a lawnmower with a chainsaw bolted to the top of it with a face drawn on the front?), Zombie makes us watch as the homicidal goon even kills poor ol’ Ishmael in a drawn out segment of assault and water-boarding, topped off with crushing his skull under a tv set. Yes, Robby Zombo, we get the point: he’s a murder tank with a mustang engine when it comes to taking lives. Even those who have only ever tried to help him. Just leave Danny Trejo alone!

Finally, after 45 minutes of fleshing out our killer’s background, the beefy behemoth (or “bohemoth” as he’d be referred to later, in the sequel) is set loose on the unsuspecting public. His next victim is knife-wielding truck jiver Joe Grizzly (Ken Foree in full force ’70s throwback mutton chops), whom Myers gets the drop on in the middle of Joe butt wrestling a taco supreme in the men’s room of a truck wash on the way to Haddonfield. Our blaxploitation heavy puts up a struggle, but ultimately loses his life (and raggedy overalls that probably stink like the darkest recesses of Ammut’s colon) to the Shape of kills to come. The following day (which just happens to be Halloween!), after presumably walking the 100 miles between Smith’s Grove and his hometown, Miguel returns to the rundown remnants of the Myers digs and tears up the floorboards of Judy’s old room to recover the only-minorly-decayed Shatner death mask from where we’re guessing he stashed it that fateful night a decade-and-a-half prior before giving himself up. Now, we can’t have a slasher movie where the killer is our solo focal point, so let’s go meet the tender young flesh of our heroine, Laurie Strode (Scout Taylor-”Straight Outta”-Compton)!

Hey. Remember the original Halloween II? Yeah, the movie where Jamie Lee Curtis dragged herself around a poorly lit and understaffed hospital trying not to get killed (again) for the entire thing, while Donald Pleasance fleshed out Myers Gen1’s backstory? Remember how Laurie turned out to be Micheal’s little sister? Well, same goes here. They won’t get to the big reveal for a long time yet, but I’m getting it out of the way now so we don’t need to sit on our thumbs waiting for the voice of Chucky to get around to the whole “I dropped the Myers baby off at a hospital two towns over after their mom redecorated the family room with her head guts” revelation. Besides, everybody in the audience knew from the moment the waifish teenager comes on screen and starts clutching her own tits and speaking dirty whorish teenager things to her own mother that she had to be the genetic spillage of some white trash titty bar dancer. Nature vs. nurture, folks.

So, Baby Boo Myers. Raised as “Laurie” by Cynthia (Dee Wallace!) and Mason (Pat [GilliganVoice] “Skipperrrrr!” [/GilliganVoice]) Strode. She’s a high school girl with high school girl friends doing all the high school girl things that reinforce my hatred of high school girls. At least it steels my resolve to stay out of jail by assuring I won’t be one of those chodes Wooderson-ing the jailbait at local cheerleader tryouts or field hockey practice. No, if anything, I’m more likely going to be the only masked slasher who interrupts the underage coitus before it gets started and demands the girl put a sweater on before I yank her lungs out through her gullet. Speaking of graphic purveyors of violent acts, Mikey finds little sister almost immediately upon getting back into town, as if she has a big electromagnet in her head tuned especially for butcher knives and other cleaving implements.

One of the less revolting high school girl stereotypes Laurie fills out is the “babysitting the neighbor kid on the weekends” role. Her particular source of income is young Tommy Doyle (Skyler Gisondo), who hangs on the young lady like a smart mouth barnacle while simultaneously decrying her gross girl cooties. Laurie will be spending her All Hallows Eve tending to Tommy and his would-be girlfriend Lindsey Wallace (Jenny Gregg Stewart), the second barnacle of whom Laurie picks up so her friend and fellow sitter Annie Brackett (Danielle Harris) can plump her boyfriend’s Oscar Mayer wiener in her cooter oven. I have to say, Micheal Myer’s little niece grew up nicely since Halloween 5…and it’s okay for me to say that, because she was THIRTY while pretending to be an 18 year old here, so fuck you.

We’re gonna break out the Cliff’s Notes for the rest of the feature, because none of it’s really that important. Loomis comes to town, shouldering the personal guilt that he couldn’t fix Myers and adds a tool to his psychiatric repertoire that may just do the trick: a .357 Magnum. Brains are like TV sets – if they’re broken and you have no luck rewiring them, take a page from Elvis Presley’s book, pretend they’ve got Robert Goulet’s face, and put a big fat bullet through ’em! Local constabulary Sheriff Brackett (Brad Douriff), thinks Dr. L’s threats of a holiday holocaust are unfounded, so Sammy spends much of the remainder of the flick trying to convince the pig otherwise. Meanwhile, Myers just goes about killing Laurie’s family and friends. If you were a fan of the original’s unnecessary “headstone” death mock-up, or that infuriatingly stupid scene where Myers pins a 200+ pound man to a pantry door with the tip of a butcher knife, then congratulations because Zombie redoes them here. If you hated both of those scenes as I did, then wear a mouth guard so you don’t bite off your lip or tongue while trying to hold back your rage. It’s been 7 years and I still can’t pronounce my ‘s’es properly.

With the prelims out of the way, Michael spends the final 20 minutes of the movie chasing little sis around. He drags her kicking and screaming (until she… faints?) across town to their ancestral abode while the doctor and the sheriff (coming to The Hallmark Channel this Fall!) pursue one step behind. In the basement of the house, our speechless specter tries to make his sibling understand their connection, going so far as to remove his mask and drop to his knees to show her he’s no threat to her. Their bonding doesn’t go like he’d hoped though, as Laurie jams his own knife into his neck/chestal area before fleeing outside. Having no luck with getting this family reunion to work, Mike re-dons his Captain Kirk warpaint and heads out to carve little sister out of the Myers will. Just as he’s cornered Laurie and you think there’s no way she can escape, in comes the AARP cavalry with guns a-blazin’ as Loomis fills his former patient full of lead in the empty pool in the backyard. Whoa, hold your shit for one second. So the the poor white trash family struggling desperately to make ends meet had a fucking in-ground pool!? What the Night of the Living Fuck?! I call bullshit. Immersion ruined. Up yours, Robert Zomberson. Movie over.

Refusing to fall victim to the Second Amendment, Michael rises and drags Laurie from the supposed safety of the Loomis Mobile while the good doctor gives the greatest delivery of “WHAT THE HELL!?” I’ve seen in any medium. Don’t know how Malcolm McDowell was robbed of the Oscar for that one, but it’s a crime against good taste whatever the case. King Drama Club follows Michael back into the house and offers himself as a sacrifice to Myers’ wrath in apology for failing to cure him of his mania. The big guy grabs Sam’s skull and crushes/massages his…sinuses? It’s not clear. Looms looks dead, but manages to grab Mike’s ankle later to no real effect (except to establish that he’s still alive for the impending sequel?), to which our killer responds by…walking away from him. Huh. Not a very good killer, is he? Laurie grabs the doc’s hand canon, gets chased around the remnants of the house in a needlessly long chase sequence that could’ve been twice as effective at half the length. Something my penis and I know plenty about. Wakka wakka!

Their merry chase concludes with big brother shoulder tackling the petite teen through a second story window. When they awaken on the front lawn, Laurie’s face is all busted up, but that doesn’t stop her from grabbing the Magnum, straddling her sibling (ewww) and playing one-way Russian Roulette with his dumb rubber face until he finally grabs her hand (to steady her aim, methinks) and she unloads a big lead slug of “thicker than water” justice through his face. She spends her final moments on screen in a fit of Marilyn Burnsian “I BROKE MY BRAIN!” screams before we head into the end credits, interlaced with Myers family films of little Michael smashing a plastic bouncy horse with a stick in a chilling precursor of destroyed playthings to come. FIN.

Coming in at a beefy two hour run time, Halloween is a bit overstuffed. Rob Zombie’s that “get your money’s worth” cook who isn’t happy just serving up a burger at the barbecue. He slaps two ½ lb patties on a bun, then tops ’em off with lettuce and fried onions and tomatoes and pickles and hot peppers and chipotle ketchup and mayo. When you take that first bite, everything just falls out the back and sides and you get a mouthwatering avalanche all over your favorite fucking Blood Feast t-shirt. The movie’s just too long for its own good. Perfect example: too much time is spent hitting us over the head with how Myers is an irredeemable murder maven. Loomis gives us the skinny during a cut from his speaking tour and that does the job. We don’t need to watch the doc explain it to other characters again and again later. We got it the first time!

Speaking of time, I’m split on whether the way Zombie dedicates the first half of the movie to Michael and the second half to Laurie is a good thing or not. I know the movie is about Myers and not so much Laurie this time, but inherently this comes with another slippery slope to climb: centering your movie on a character that forfeits all vocal abilities and hides his face for the majority of the last half of the flick. This shift from making Michael the main character over to putting all the attention on Laurie (who spent her first half of the flick in a high chair and drooling all over her sippy cup) hurts the cohesiveness of the movie for me. How could this have been fixed? Maybe some of the time spent on chronicling Mikey’s stint in the loony bin could’ve been spent showing us exactly what’s been happening to Laurie all this time, so we could start to give a shit about her too instead of just dropping her in our lap later (and making most of us hate her from Scout Taylor-Compton’s first few lines). But no, Laurie’s history is all covered in some dialogue later between Loomis and Sheriff Brackett. Thus, the mild sense of audience vertigo remains. On the one hand, I’m glad that we get a slasher where the killer gets the spotlight and we see what made him the evil bastard he would become. But on the other hand, a true slasher is only as good as his victims, so you can’t NOT give your lead protagonist their time to make us give a fuck about whether they live or die. From a necessity point-of-view it works to fit both roles, but it still feels off to spend the first half of the movie getting to know one guy, then sticking him into the background as the boogeyman while we have to watch obnoxious girls being obnoxious. So, yeah. Time management and editing. Zombie could use a little more practice on both.

As far as the “tribute scenes”? If they were done in legit tribute of how “great they were”, then fuck it. I hated them. Could they have been done in a *wink*wink* or mockery? If so, they were played a little too straightforward for it to be believable. All the bullshit with the tombstone, the “guy stuck to a wall with a butcher knife” crap and the “Myers dressed like a ghost wearing glasses” scene are all accounted for. They all still put groans into my guts and my hand smacked squarely against my forehead.

Zombie knows what he’s doing with the violence though, ya gotta give him that. Rather than go full tilt with dismemberment and insides-on-the-outside, he has a knack for the simple-yet-brutal effect of a bloodied face. Whether it’s the school bully getting his karmaic comeuppance or Laurie after being used as a tackle dummy by big brother, both horror faces made me pay attention and gave me mildly nauseated squirms in that visceral oh-so-good way that few things do. Seemingly simplistic, but so effective when done right. As for the rest of his direction, Zombie puts more of an action flair into his stuff. If you’re the type who oozed your shorts over Carpenter’s thriller atmosphere in the original, this more energetic aesthetic isn’t likely what you were looking for in a remake. Then again, the damn thing’s been out for so long that if you haven’t seen it already, this review probably isn’t going to put this on your “must see” list.

In regards to the cameos: I don’t care if it was just Zombie giving his friends and horror movie idols a paycheck, or if he was trying to appeal to the horror movie geeks who like to point at the screen and name as many of the actors as possible. Either way, I still get that little kick out of being able to do the latter while everyone else around me is generally clueless. Granted, their lives are probably filled with more endearing and humanity benefiting pastimes than what I do on my days off, but being able to say, “Oh shit! That’s Clint Howard!” puts a smile on these lips in the morning.

As far the acting goes: meh. Everybody seemed to be into it, but there weren’t a lot of tour de force performances going on here. Possibly the fault of the dialogue on that one, though. I think Daeg Faerch was the surprising stand-out of the group, as his portrayal of young Michael gave me the legitimate creeps. He manages to play a disturbed-but-still-sympathetic lunatic child without tripping over the “obnoxious little shithead you just wanna smack upside the head” pitfall that other child actors in horror flicks seem inclined to do. William Forsythe was probably one of the best assholes I’ve seen in years outside of a Tarantino movie, but his role was short-lived as it was. Though I could’ve cared less if Laurie lived or died (preferably the latter, if we’re being honest), Miss Compton does one HELL of a scream queen act in her final moments that made for forget just how little I cared for the her up until then! She puts out such believable insanity in that moment that you’d think she just looked into the gaping maw of Cthulhu and saw a dimension of nothing but Carrot Top movies. As for Sherri, she makes a believable “broken down mom just trying to keep her family together”, but just because her last name is “Zombie” doesn’t mean she should let herself decay to the point of looking like a reanimated corpse. Her emaciated body nauseates me as her ribs try to poke out my eyes during her “worn out stripper” routine. Somebody order that woman a corned-beef on rye before she slips into a coma! Is she under the impression that trying to look like Keira Knightley will get her those fat Disney paychecks like Miss Pirates of the Caribbean? Not so, my dear. Please put something into your body other than cocaine and Scotch, okay?

Final judgment? The Halloween remake is a lot like the original with enough new material tacked on to set it apart from its source, and justify its existence. I liked it. I’m good with Michael Myers being an actual guy with a solid history. It’s far from perfect, but I wasn’t demanding my money back at the end. I think the movie actually improves on the life and times of one of horror’s flagship mask-wearers, unlike the Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake that threw in Leatherface’s new origin as an abused child as little more than an afterthought. Or the Friday the 13th and Elm Street remakes that just straight up recycled the tales of their originals. Oh wait, that’s because Michael Bay was rubbing his grimy sweaty swampy balls all over all three of those. I almost forgot. Well, I tried to forget.

In closing, though I always welcome frank discussion and debate with our readers, if you’re a biased member of the Loyal Order of John Carpenter Fellatio Enthusiasts and you’re just going to write unintelligible rhetoric to me about how much of an ignorant “traitor” I am to the horror genre because I’ll take Zombie’s movie over Old Man Carpenter’s movie if given the option, keep two things in mind: (1) Carpenter gave Zombie the okay to do whatever he wanted with the movie (so it’s his inbox you should be packing) and (2) please at least do me the favor of spell checking your shit first. If your email looks like the transcript from an episode of “Maury“, you won’t get a response. I let somebody borrow my copy of “How to Communicate with Grammarless Dickweeds” and would have no idea how to respond…

Moral of the Story: Just because someone’s crippled doesn’t mean they can’t still crawl over there and skull fuck the shit out of you.

Screenshots_____

Little Johnny Gacey’s parents used to wake up to THAT every morning.


“Ahhhh, still smells like Mother.”


“Okay, which one of you jazzy hepcats called for a Groove-meister? Cuz he is here!”


Shit. And I thought my allergies were bad!


You know what happens to the first one to fall asleep at a party. He’ll wake up with penises drawn all over his face, no eyebrows, a Hitler mustache, his underwear in the freezer, both hands in bowls of warm water, and sitting in a very big wet spot.


Alright, who recorded over my horror movie with a Korn video?


Coming directly to video cassette (in 1992): Ted Danson is Dracula.


still a better Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake than Michael Bay’s.


I’m a deranged pervert and even I wouldn’t take a date back to that bedroom.


The end to Robert Rodriguez’s epic faux-sploitation series: Machete Killed.


A tip to black men in slasher movies: stay off the toilet. Remember Miguel Nunez in Friday the 13th Part V? Exactly.


Nothing tugs the heart strings like the look on a girl’s face when she audibly farts on a first date. Memories.


I don’t mean to tell a professional how to do his business, Mike, but successful stalkers don’t usually just stand around in the open in broad daylight. I can see you. You’re RIGHT THERE. Just trying to help.


Dr. Frankenstein or the Ice Cream Man: which would you rather trust your hysterectomy to, ladies?


It only took him 20 years, but Charlie Brown’s second happiest moment came one Halloween when he finally got his ghost costume (mostly) right! His happiest? When he strangled Lucy later that same night.


They must be enrolled at Horror High.


“You can’t kill me! PLEASE! I had NOTHING to do with Holwing II: Your Sister is a Werewolf! I hated it too! Ahhhhhh!”


That awkward moment when you discover the parents of the kid you’re babysitting left their homemade porno tape in the VCR.


Michael Myers takes the series back to its roots as he stars in Walking Tall 4: the Resurrection of Buford Pusser. Meh. At least he’s not Kevin Sorbo.


Sure, they’ll turn away homosexuals, but I see eHarmony didn’t hesitate to approve Chris Brown’s membership.

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Anubis will return next time in
“The Faygo 500”

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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 24 [Rerun] – Evil Bong (2006)

or “Criminalize It”

Featuring:  David “Roommates” Weidoff , Kristyn “Doll Graveyard” Green , Tommy “Up In Smoke” Chong

Director:  Charles “Trancers” Band

Writer:  Domonic “Critters” Muir (as August White)

Origin: USA

Sequels:  Evil Bong II: King Bong / Evil Bong 3D: the Wrath of Bong / Gingerdead Man Vs. Evil Bong

Review_____

“GIVE ME A MONKEY, BRO! GIVE ME A FUCKING MONKEY! COME ON, BRO!”

Intro: Oh man, Evil Bong. Sweet Cleopatra’s cleavage. I was emotionally scarred by Demonicus to the point of impotent whimpering (THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED!), but at least Demonicus never beget Demonicus II: Demonicuster’s Last Stand , Demonicus 3D: Spies Like DemonicUs , or Demonicus Vs. Jack Deth Vs. The Head of the Family. When I first reviewed Evil Bong, it was a worthless throw away bag of garbage juice. I hated it, but it was harmless, and it gave some bad movie people I like a paycheck. Probably only enough to put a down payment on a General Tso’s Dinner Combo at the Wanton Won Ton, but some pocket change exchanged hands nonetheless. In the time since said review, the garbage juice has spilled from its bag and spread outward into the bad movie world, replicating itself in the form of three sequels. Comparing Demonicus to Evil Bong is like comparing getting your genitals obliterated with a chainsaw or having your hands and feet cut off via guillotine. Both are horrible things no sane person would want to ever experience, but on entirely different scales of awful.

So, while its initial crime may not be as abhorrent as that of Demonicus, the legacy it wrought has ensconced Evil Bong on my list of “things to go back and prevent once HG Wells finishes my damn time machine”. It’s right between The Great Chicago Fire and “American Idol”.

Anyway, here’s the original review in all its inebriated randomness. For those wondering, yes, I was actually stoned when I wrote this! And no, sadly I was not stoned for this updated re-reviewing. I’ll even pass a piss test after if you don’t believe me.

Original Review:
Note: this review is being typed while its writer has been infused with a sizable dose of THCs in the hopes of improving his outlook on this movie. Spell Check will likely pick up all the spelling mistakes, so hopefully this still makes sense when it’s over. If not, Microsoft will receive an angry letter from me when this chemical laziness wears off…

Note #2: I just had a five-minute conversation with my girlfriend (also high) about putting Cobra Commander on the “Don’t Tread On Me Flag”, because as G.I. Joe: the Movie taught us, Cobra Commander turns into a snake that “was once a man”, so he qualifies for the flag because he was once a man and now he’s a snake and he doesn’t want to be tread upon…

Man, fuck Charles Bond. He’s always bitching about how his brother James gets the mad bitches and takes what he wants and gets to drive all the best phallic objects and… oh wait, we’re talking about Charles Band? Oh jeez, not this douche bag again. Okay, a few years ago there was this new cartoon based on the original “He-Man and the Masters of the Universe” that was actually much better than the original. It didn’t last as long as the original, since cartoons these days are actually outlived by their merchandise rather then simply existing to sell it, but it was definitely of better quality than its predecessor. On the other hand, (and Spell Check just told me that “otherhand” is apparently not a word in itself, in case you were wondering), there have been numerous retreads on the original “G.I. Joe” and “Transformers” franchises over the last 10 years that have all sat firmly between my legs, chewing on the long nappy hairs of my dog-man crotch until someone finally put them out of their misery.

What’s this mean to you? Well, from the late ’70s to the mid ’90s, Chucky Band (son of the now zombiefied Albert Band) tossed a lovely bunch of coconuts to bad movie fans under his various production companies (Wizard, Empire and Full Moon) before his creditors caught up with him and he had to either go into bankruptcy or go into hiding for a few years till the “smoke” blew over. Whichever he chose, Band went away for a little while, popping his oddly shaped skull up from time to time to put out some softcore vampire flicks so the guys too embarrassed to rent actual porn could pick up some action at the local Cockblocker Video on those lonely Saturday nights. Amazonian grandma Julie Strain was in a couple of ‘em. Whether these movies made him enough money to pay off his financial predators, or his loan sharks were found with fatal doses of leeches/large drill holes/knife and hook gashes/12th degree burns/crushed heads one morning, Band apparently felt the time was right to bring back the new and “improved” Full Moon! There was a road show/traveling convention to promote it. William Shatner and Alex Band of The Calling were dragged along (likely to cover up their involvement in one of Band’s mass hooker orgy murder sprees), midgets and fire-eating chicks in their underwear tagged along for a freak show street performance, and the country was introduced one city at a time to what the next generation of Band sinema held in store – Crap.

Yes, crap. A big killer puppet shaped pile of it… made of some of Charles Band’s older craps that he’d been saving in his bread box for a special occasion. The special occasion of putting them all together in that aforementioned pile, then adding a few freshly squeezed ones too to adhere the old craps together, then further shape everything into what Full Moon would become today.

Everything from Full Moon has been totally thrown away in the last few years. There are no new stars of the industry, just cameos by washed up favorites from yesteryear and fresh faced youngsters who can’t figure out when it’s time to act or when it’s time to give a golden shower to the viewers’ senses. The great (or at least serviceable… most times) creators of the good ol’ days have long since departed, so we’re left with know-nothings (whose “artistic vision” has been blurred by disinterest and/or donkey ejaculate) and, sometimes worse, Band himself. The quality special effects, explosions, gore, and nightmarish marionette designs of the grand old times have been bait-and-switched with half-assed characters, cheap plastic toys, and home computer visual effects. The official final atomic bomb for Band’s proverbial Hiroshima was Puppet Master Vs. Demonic Toys. But, much like the people in those nuclear dystopia fallout movies, I stick around Full Moon to see what kind of glowing green ghoulies will emerge to vomit their blistered entrails on my feet in a desperate plea for help, only to be swiftly crushed in a splatter of digital blood and tiny plastic bones. It’s better for the poor things this way, so that they can get the truth and start to get over it as soon as possible, instead of suffering through less harsh pains for years, only to suddenly die one day because they’ve grown too weak and vulnerable from all the picking and poking…

Damn it, I’m sleepy…


Run, children! The crazy evil chipmunk man wants to fill your no-no places with his bad touch! Waaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Okay, that woke me up.

So then I saw Evil Bong one day. I wanted to rent Talladega Nights or Death Trance instead, but I only had one coupon and something told me Evil Bong was to be the one for me. I now regret that decision and wish I could go back in time, not to tell myself not to rent the movie, but to go back a bit further and choke Charles Band to death with a fish wrapped in barb wire before he could even make his first phone call to Tommy Chong, who I’m hoping did this movie simply because “That ‘70s Show” was canceled and he needed some quick cash to cover his recent legal expenses. Stupid government, forcing Tommy Chong to do Charles Band movies because you can’t leave the whole “water pipe” issue to your constituents…

Sorry, my girlfriend and I just had an exchange about cannolis (that had nothing to do with The Godfather before you ask) and I called them “coli-olis” and I had to stop and laugh about that for a few minutes… She’s asleep now, so I can talk again. Don’t tell her you and I meet like this, otherwise we’re both in for some real trouble! I’m talking, “Holy shit, we gotta hire the A-Team to get us out of here!” type trouble, and not the original A-Team that had the Mexican guy playing Face either, but the improved version that everybody recognizes with the guy from Body Slam!

Evil Bong came about because Charles Band was looking to do an “homage” to Little Shop of Horrors and his sons were talking to him about bongs. He said he doesn’t know why they know what bongs are, but when you’re a guy who has to pay people to hang out with you, I can guarantee he’s bribed his kids for some patented “Band Bonding” on occasion with a few tokes off his 3ft Tunneler Tower. Anyway, as we all know, “homage” is a legal term that everyone in Hollywood uses these days that means “if I mention the original material that I’m ripping off, no one’s allowed to sue me, because this counts as promoting the sale of said original material, and therefore the stealing of its ideas and characters is considered payment for making said promotion”. Yeah, Band kinda ran out of old horror comic books whose copyrights had expired to use as “inspiration” for his flicks, so he’s been relegated to the old “homage” trick.

As for this movie, a group of college stoners all live together in a studio apartment (because even adding a bedroom or two would require getting another set and it was expensive enough getting the velvet curtains and stripper stages for the hallucination scenes later on). The four guys each cover a different stereotype of the “college cinema” dichotomy: Larnell (John Patrick Jordan) is the charismatic fast talker leader bean whose only goal in life is entertaining himself; Bachman (Mitch Eakins, who’s totally not an Ekans) is the career stoner and preeminent couch decoration; Brett (Brian Lloyd) is the machismo oozing, protein guzzling, skank plugging, jock-of-all-trades; and Alistair (David Weidoff) is the four-eyed super nerd with a subscription to “Calculus Hotties Quarterly” and a t-shirt that says “Nerds do it to the 9th Power” is his “club wear”… by which I mean chess club. Please note that neither of those cool things are actually in the movie, so don’t go renting it in the hopes of seeing them.

These four guys order a giant cursed bong named Ebee from the back of an issue of “High Times” and one-by-one they start getting sucked into an evil strip club dimension inside of the bong where chicks wearing flesh eating bras (as sold on Band’s Monster Bras webpage… because Band’s a whore and isn’t ashamed of trying to disguise a commercial as a movie, then sell it to the few loyal followers he still has left) kill them upon arrival… after a quick (and extremely lazy) lap dance, of course. When Alistair’s new girlfriend Janet (Kristyn Green) gets sucked into the soul slurping paraphernalia though, he takes a hit and goes in to save the day while the bong’s original owner Jimbo (Tommy Chong) shows up to try and defeat his old enemy/water pipe for good. If I had a nickel for every time I watched Tommy Chong get medieval on a 4ft bong with a chainsaw, my pockets would be very quiet… much like they are right now.

The movie itself is shit. The actors don’t act so much as look like they’re trying to improvise all of their lines because they thought The Blair Witch Project was a “stroke of genius” (when it was really more a “stroke of penius” that was never washed properly and instead stained your daughter’s prom dress…). The sad part is that they apparently ARE trying to act for real and aren’t just “running with the camera”, as illustrated by one scene that finds Larnell playing Super Mario World on his old Super Nintendo, and somehow winding up in four different levels in the 2 seconds it takes for Alistair to walk across the room and turn off his TV! Is this the result of having to do numerous takes, or did they just not pause the game while the camera guys had to stop and relocate their single piece of equipment for each different angle?!

Of course the “special” effects are just the opposite, as practically inanimate puppets and props plague us for 90 minutes with little-to-no movement whatsoever. The entire thing happened inside the movie’s single set and I got real bored of this loser lair real quick. I may hate natural light and there being a world beyond my apartment, but it doesn’t mean I don’t like to be reminded of what it looks like from time-to-time. And what the fuck was up with the bloated padding being done near the middle of the movie?! There’s a pointless 10 minute scene involving Larnell’s wheelchair bound millionaire grandpa and the geezer’s new wife dropping by for a visit that doesn’t contribute to anything in the movie but the running time! I could’ve used that time for sleeping or showering or writing a letter to my congressman banning the sale and rental of any new Full Moon releases in New York and the surrounding areas! Sure, the rental was free, but it’s not like I can take Charlie to “The People’s Court” and sue him for wasted time!

Evil Bong is not just a horribly done movie, but it’s a lame commercial too. You can’t look up anything about the movie online without being bombarded with ads for the Monster Bras or the Ebee replica bong or Tommy Chong’s autographed jockey shorts. The fact that the deaths in the movie were all lame and all the same is bad enough, but having each death caused by the soon-to-be-released product of the movie’s director is shameless and just adds to the disdain. Which dain? Dis dain. Dis dain right here! And there it is. To further the proof that it’s all one big advertising campaign, the movie is packed to the rim job with weak cameos by the likes of Bill “The Devil’s Rejects” Moseley, Phil “Ghoulies II” Fondacaro and Tim “Trancers” Thomerson, as well as Full Moon characters like Ooga Booga from Doll Graveyard, Jack Attack from Demonic Toys (the really crappy inanimate face version used in Puppet Master Vs. Demonic Toys too, not even the cool original version) and the titular wonder of The Gingerdead Man.

They should change his name to Charles Banned and exile his ass from the director’s chair after this one! It’s over, Chuck. Just let it go. She was good to you, she took care of you, she loved you like no one else, and you fucked it up. She’s gone and you have to give her up. Maybe she’ll come back and find you again someday. Until then, you’ve gotta let her go. If not for yourself, then for the sake of all those poor mutilated bunnies. Come on Charlie, put the corkscrew down and leave the bunnies alone. They have families, Charlie. And though they’re likely to eat their own offspring sooner or later, that’s for nature to decide, not you.

So there you have it: Evil Bong isn’t just a movie, it’s Charles Band’s way of promoting animal cruelty. For shame on you and a hearty “go fuck yourself!” from me, Mr. B. Walk away, old man. Remember the good times and let them keep you warm on the cold nights while you’re sleeping in the streets. Just let the darkness take you. We’ll see you on the other side, tiny dancer. The Full Moon has set. KA-BONG!

At least it was nice seeing Sonny “Rabbit” Davis again. I missed that guy…

Xtro: As with every rerun review, I had to fight myself Ash Williams style to keep from editing the bejeezus out of the preceding opinion piece, but interest in authenticity won out. Moving on, my recent re-viewing of Evil Bong warranted addressing the following points. Moot as they may be, I thought I’d bring ’em up anyway just to kick the movie around some more while it’s already concussed and bleeding out, face down in a gutter.

Out of the gate? The soundtrack. The generic pot smoking tunes by some Sublime knock-off band (possibly Kottonmouth Kings?) aren’t made any easier to stomach when a full page ad for Sublime is prominently featured on camera while our stoner doofi peruse their copy of “High Times”, reminding us of what we’re NOT listening to. Beyond that, there’s also plenty of shitty rip-off wanna-be Insane Clown Posse and Cypress Hull music to drag barb wire over your eardrums… oh wait, that’s not a wanna-be ICP, that is ICP! Blart! It’s really too bad that the two things those clowns (literally) are best known for (their music and their fans) are also the things I hate them for, because as bad movie nerds and pro-wrestling geeks go, Violent J and Shaggy Too Dope are top notch. Oh well, just add contributing to the delinquencies of Charles Band to their rap sheet.

The cast didn’t really go on to do much beyond the Bong, and it’s no surprise given that the best they probably received from acting class was a certificate of participation. Jordan, Eikens, Lloyd, and Robin Sydney (whose patience immolating character Luann was omitted from my original review for what seem to be obvious reasons of sanity preservation, in hindsight) all returned for the sequels, and Sydney would later get high and fuck a corpse as DyeAnne in the new Tomb’s maiden voyage (and undisputed toilet bobber), Night of the Living Dead 3D: Re-Animation. Man, her agent really needs to point her in the direction of better quality casting couches. As for Weidoff and Green, they would fizzle off into relative obscurity, which is probably for the better on both accounts. The next year, Green would do another Band-Muir blumpkin in the shape of Dead Man’s Hand, which… did not end well… at all… for anyone… As for Tommy Chong, his playing Hot Wheels with topless women at the flick’s finale was the only thing work taking into the lifeboats from this sinking ship movie, and 10 seconds of that doesn’t come remotely close to removing the taste of the 80 minute diarrhea deluge force fed to me via fire hose before it.

In summary, after wading through this chronic-based cloudy discharge again, I feel far more ashamed admitting to being a pot smoker now than I ever did after ANY anti-drug public service announcement. If you held free public showings of Evil Bong for Colorado stoners, those marijuana legalization laws would be repealed faster than you can say “Pass me the Goldenseal!”. I may review the sequels someday, but I may also smash my talons with a claw hammer. Just don’t expect both… though I do have a finite number of talons, so never say never.

Moral of the Story: If I ever hear the word “bro” again, I’m gonna jam a 5ft bong up somebody’s cornhole. Or I’ll just have Bill Moseley work you over with a car battery and a grapefruit spoon. Maybe both.

Screenshots_____

Cast simply because his last name sounds like “weed off”… and it’s a movie about weed… ha…. ha.


By “Special Appearance”, they mean he’s on screen for about 12 seconds and says “grapefruit spoon”.


A wholly appropriate image for a year where Easter falls on 4/20.


Brett learns of the horrific accusations against Penn State coach Jerry Sandusky.


Brett then learns of the “totally unfair” penalty of “no bowl games for 4 years” levied against Penn State in the wake of Sandusky’s conviction… sadly mirroring the same disturbingly unbalanced sentiment of far too many Penn State fans (i.e. more than zero) after the same news. Some people just need to be burned alive.


“Dude! That’s not a cereal bowl! It’s my bedpan from that time I broke my legs! Sick, bro!”


“Don’t worry bro, drug tests don’t pick up second hand buzz! SHOTGUN!”


“Dude, I’m wearing my sweet Chinese dragon kimono and playing my Japanese video game. Can’t you see I’m busy with my Asian Studies homework?! Stop cock blocking my education, bro!”


Sonny Davis, you’re the winner of the 2014 Reggie Bannister Look-a-Like Contest! You’ve won a $20 Arby’s gift card and our condolences. We’re so sorry for you…


Careful friend, you’re dangerously close to over-Spicoli-ing. It’s not good for you.


Hey, Phil Fondacaro. You doing okay? You look a little UNDER THE WEATHER! Ahhhhhhhhhh… ha. Seriously though, Phil’s looking great! Good for you, Sir.


He only gets one bowel movement a month, and damn it, you’re not going to ruin it for him!


Good thing Larnell’s wearing his camo. That bong will never see him coming… Blart.


[John Larroquette voice] “The events of that day would lead to the discover of one of the most bizarre crimes in the annals of American history – the Tommy Chongsaw Massacre.”


Ebee looks like somebody’s taking their love for pot smoking to a very dark place… a very dark, violating place… a very dark, “violating her with their penis” place… I think somebody’s fucking Ebee’s smoke stack is what I’m saying.

Anubis will return next time in
“The Doctor is In(carcerated)”

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