Episode 98 – The Greasy Strangler (2016)

or “The Murderous Misadventures of the Crisco Kid”

Featuring: Michael “The Video Dead” St. Michaels , Sky “Don Verdean” Elobar , Elizabeth “‘Eastbound & Down’” De Razzo

Director: Jim “ABCs of Death” Hosking

Writers: Toby “ABCs of Death” Harvard & Jim “ABCs of Death” Hosking

Origin: USA

Review_____

“I don’t know what to think about anything right now.”

As I sit here, eating room temperature Dollar Embargo brand clam chowder hobo style (well, my spoon is plastic rather than metal, so “sub-hobo style” then), the looming presence of the anniversary of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre reminds me of lost loves. In this case, my most recent (and likely final) failed foray into matters of the heart dropkicks her way to the forefront of my fractured psyche. We fell for each other hard and fast. After the first week she was deep into “I’ve never known anyone like you. I need you like oxygen” territory and we were exchanging ‘L’ words. Hers was “lederhosen” and mine was “lemon curry”. But, only five weeks after that vindictive little pervert Cupid nailed us with a heart-shaped nuke, we were overcome by the fallout. She broke up with me because her other boyfriend “accidentally” impregnated her, so she needed to focus on making an impromptu family with him and his other girlfriend, whom other boyfriend wanted her to “convince” that the best thing for them would be to join together as a trio. But we’ve all been there before, right? “Tale as old as time” and all that.

Anyway, rather than linger any longer on the “loved and lost” debate in the face of this Hallmark hollowday, I’ve instead paired up with my cinemasochist brother from the Hawkeye State (in that it’s the state with the lamest super power and nobody likes it?) to play a round of bad movie Russian roulette! From his secret list of six flicks (five farts and one favorite), random.org chose for me The Greasy Strangler.

Well, it could’ve been worse. I was one chamber away from the bullet of malaise known as Atlas Shrugged. Uggh. Ayn Rand is spending the rest of eternity getting her blood drained by razortooth leeches hanging on every inch of her body for writing that bullshit. Every inch. Anyway, let’s get greasy, disco people!

Oh, and if you’re anything like me (in which case, my sympathies) and were hoping this would be a US remake of The Oily Maniac, I fear that itch will have to remain unscratched…for now.

In keeping with the spirit of the holiday (or its symbolism if nothing else), today’s movie is about love. The love between a cheesy old cornball and a hootie tootie disco cutie. The love between a single parent and their child. The love between an aging disco historian and the music that shaped his life. The love between a pig-nosed weirdo and his rented shoes. The love between a man-beast and his penchant for strangling people…while drenched in grease. The Greasy Strangler is packed so tight with love, watching it will make you feel like you’re being crushed under a roomful of heart-shaped Whitman sampler boxes!

Damn. That was such a whopper of a metaphor. It was less a metaphor and more like a metaphive!

Shut up. You laughed. Liar.

Produced in part by hobbit-for-life Elijah Wood (who pulled similar duties on A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night and Cooties, in case you didn’t know), our tale takes place in Los Angeles. The City of Angels in the Outfield. The land of nasty redheads and bums on their knees that Randy Newman declared his passion for so, well, passionately. It’s here that tourists and everyday fans of walking tours can take part in Big Ronnie’s Disco Tour – a trudge through the down-trodden avenues and alleyways of abandoned buildings where the biggest names of the industry may or may not have done some things of interest. Just don’t inquire about the tour’s promise of free drinks, because you won’t like the result. Unless you tend to spend a lot of your lunch hours engaging in contradictory exchanges at the Argument Clinic, in which case inquire away!

The eponymous patriarch of the tour is geriatric retiree of the disco scene, Big Ronnie (Michael St. Michaels), who claims to have once had a backroom bang session with a pair of Korean twins and a certain celebrity whose name rhymes with Jichael Mackson. There was milky cum everywhere. And yes, before you ask in a distressed voice signifying your revulsion, that is an important detail I could not omit. Co-hosting the tour (in a matching uniform of pink shorts, pink sweater, gray knee-high socks and white sneakers) is Ronnie’s son Big Brayden (Sky Elobar), for whom the adjective “big” clearly wasn’t earned due to his personality. An awkward, balding, unkempt milksop of a human being, Brayden manages to catch the hungry eyes of an odd little lady named Janet (Elizabeth De Razzo) during one such tour. The pair fall fairly quickly for each other, testing the audiences’ gastrointestinal fortitude with a series of uncomfortable scenes of intimacy. You’ve been warned.

Ronnie doesn’t take the pairing well, frequently debasing his boy to others (mostly over Bray’s tendency to shit on seemingly everything) and inserting himself into the lovebirds’ interactions in an attempt to nip their budding romance in said bud. It’s never made clear if it’s because Ron sees Janet as a threat to the odd love-hate relationship he shares with Bray or if the old man’s just jealous that his hideous offspring is getting more action than his own hideous self has had since Bill Clinton was using Monica’s ham wallet as a humidor.

Note: I didn’t use the descriptive “ham” because of a thinly veiled referral to Miss Lewinsky having any perceive resemblance to a member of the porcine family. I used it because ham is both pink and greasy, much like a lady’s rude parts (as long as you’re doing it right, anyway), so please keep any and all aggressive projections of your personal assumptions of me to things that don’t wrongly accuse me of chauvinism. Even my less-than-friendly exes would laugh you out of the room over such accusations.

Speaking of pigs, the rest of this oddball ensemble is made up of Brayden’s pig-nosed (literally) pal Oinker (Joe David Walters, who looks like the result of a drunken night of genetic engineering between Jon Benjamin and Wallace Shawn), Ronnie’s longtime discotheque brother Big Paul (Gil Gex) who’s blind and runs an automated car wash, the wonderfully weird detective Jodie (who’s what I would expect Hunter S. Thompson to become after a few years in the Black Lodge) and a small selection of victims to serve as fodder for the titular wringer of necks. Speaking of, whom is this murderer with such a clear disregard for his own personal hygiene? From whence came this inhuman atrocity that stalks the streets while a coating of congealed Crisco conceals (not really) his visage from his victims? What evil lurks in the heart that beats beneath the monster’s slimy, sludgy, rancid raiments? Why does he take it upon himself to comedically maim and menace his victims in hyper-violent manners like a modern age Toxic Avenger? Shit! Now there’s a crossover I’d sacrifice a finger for! Anyway, as much as I’d like to address there queries for you, I’m afraid you’ll have to watch the movie for yourself!

But should you? Let’s discuss.

Greasy made me wonder if I’d blacked out at some point in my day and woke up during a very special episode of “Tim and Eric’s Bedtime Stories”. If Jared Hess directed a script co-authored by David Lynch and John Waters, this is a pretty solid approximation of what I imagine you’d get. There’s a hodgepodge of humor, humanity, horror and outright “What the fuck am I watching?!” we’re left to rifle through which will no doubt leave a lot of people put off or pissed off. Deep down in its bowels, it has a charm all its own for those who will enjoy it. However, at the same time it comes off as a deliberate endeavor to manufacture the next big midnight movie. The problem with such an undertaking is that movies aren’t made to be cult classics, they’re chosen. It’s comparable to issuing your own nickname or giving yourself a “World’s Greatest Tubthumper” mug: you just don’t do it!

Sound snobbish? Look at Plan 9 from Outer Space or The Room. Both are movies that were made with genuine efforts and affection, helmed by misguided gents who thought they were making masterpieces. These were movies that no one genuinely liked, they were only enjoyed ironically (something that used to be fun before hipsters ruined it for the rest of us) because they were so awful that they were amazing! If it’s something you and your amigos can vet by riffing the shit out of it like refugees from the Satellite of Love? If it’s the type of movie that qualifies for Deep 13 certification? That is how a cult movie is christened – with the waters of mockery. The Greasy Strangler? It’s unriffable. It’s a movie that wants you to make fun of it, but it’s too easy. There’s no challenge. It’s made to be bad, and that’s not good. It winks so much at the audience that you ask it 20 minutes in if it needs a hit off of your Visine®!

Making jokes at the expense of its visually jarring cast and their clothing that looks like it was fished from, not a Salvation Army, but the dumpster behind a Salvation Army, is tantamount to calling an obese person “fat” or an acne-riddled person “pizza face” or Hi-C Hitler “too mentally incapable to be trusted with chewing his own food, let alone being president”. It’s lazy. It’s the easy way out. It’s what the intended object of ridicule wants you to do so they can C.D. Bales your sorry ass in front of Daryl Hannah! It reminds of my least favorite RiffTrax – Birdemic; a movie so obviously made to be terrible that it’s barely worth making fun of. Lo and behold, the ‘Traxers themselves just released the writer-director-masochist’s latest repugnant rectal release through their own website! Maybe I’m just an asshole…no…I’m definitely an asshole. Nevertheless, count me out.

Where the hell was I driving this bus before taking a detour down Route “Ignore the Rambling Jackal-Headed Old Man”? Oh right, I was evaluating today’s feature. The direction and cinematography are unexpectedly…good. Going solely on its premise, I had prepared my peepers for a parade the likes of a herky-jerky Troma turkey. It happened to me when I first watched The Human Centipede and I was caught just as unawares here. Upon my mandatory second screening, I only enhanced my appreciation, so kudos to Mr. Hosking in that regard. The dialogue is heavily seasoned with quotable lines for fellow fiends to banter back and forth in verbal volleyball, most notably the running accusations between Ronnie and Brayden of each being a “bullshit artist”. I’d bet my collection of West Nile infected mosquitoes that those two words make up no less than 10% of the dialogue between them. I was okay with it (sometimes even entertained by it), but if you’re the type of person who’s not keen on scripts packed with premeditated quotables, prepare to be irked.

The premise of the movie loses steam right around the 50 minute mark (just about the point where the Strangler investigation picks up, strangely enough), but the introduction of the aforementioned Jodie to the proceedings was just the defibrillator that my dwindling interest needed to guide me the rest of the way to the credits and the end of the tunnel. One aspect that didn’t need a jolt in the jimmies for me was the soundtrack. We’re given a mish-mash of delightful tunes and noises that reminded me of the music you’d hear on off-brand NES cartridges half of the time, and just plain charming boondoggle tunes that you imagine a grown up Gene Belcher composing while ‘shrooming alone in his college dorm room on any given Friday night. My praise aside, I have no plans to pick up said soundtrack. I can’t enjoy it on its own, like I would with a Tarantino movie or TMNT II: the Secret of the Ooze. Greasy and its music exist in a symbiotic relationship from which neither can be removed, lest they both die on their own. If the Plover isn’t allowed to eat the crocodile’s scraps from its mouth, the Plover will starve and the crocodile will…get Gingivitis? I dunno. As Thoth once drunkenly slurred to me over a plate of seafood nachos at ChiChi’s, “Neither a zoologist nor a dentist be”.

As for the special effects, they’re solid. There are several instances of popped eyeballs that actually were quite impressive! My compliments to the digital effects team on that. Not so much for their “people being shot” bit, but even big money movies rarely manage to pull that one off without traditional squibs, so it’s not a big deal.

As much as I hate people using the term “revelation”, I’m going to endure some self-inflicted shame and say it now: Michael St. Michaels is a revelation. The best takeaway from The Greasy Strangler is Big Ronnie. Not just because of the lines he’s given, but the way this amazing man delivers them. His rantings remind me a bit of Raleigh Theodore Sakers’ soliloquies off of the Robbin’ the Hood album. Physically, MSM looks like a demented troll, which in and of itself contributes to the actor’s unique appeal, but the little vocal affects he applies to his words are fucking enchanting! He tells a dirty story with a silky growl of aplomb that puts a reading of Wordsworth’s Greatest Hits to shame. I don’t remember a damn thing about the man from his role in The Video Dead (which isn’t surprising since I remember almost nothing from it, having not seen it since high school), but by the bearded clam of Cleopatra did he make Big Ronnie his own. Sublime, you crazy old bastard. Sublime.

Oh yeah, speaking of genital manes, be prepared for a LOT of prosthetic peckers being prominently portrayed. And old man asses. Merkins too. Or, as I like to call them, “pubic zirconium”. So, if the sight of sagging white butt cheeks or weirdly shaped dicks ensconced in gnarled overgrowth gets your gross out gland activated, either skip this ride or bring your barf bag.

In closing, despite my apparent praise for the flick, I’m giving The Greasy Strangler a middling recommendation. A solitary viewing was enough for me, and the only real reason I would go back to it is to show it to others. Beyond that, I don’t really feel the need to sit through it again. Should you take this to heart and seek to experience the greasiness and strangling for yourself, allow this next piece of wisdom to guide you – as I told my Evil Dead Bride/Editor/Valentine while we watched it, don’t question anything in this movie because there are no answers. Trying to understand the gaping maw of chaos will only lead to an eternal void of madness for the mind.

With that, I bid you all adieu. Check out Ragnarok’s review for Oasis of the Dead by clicking this link right here (or the banner image up near the top), then be sure to get your cracks back here for our next episode. Till then, may all of your V-Days be endurable and your VDs be curable!

Moral of the Story: Everybody’s a bullshit artist and too much grease is bad for you.

Screenshots_____


Hey! It’s the same house where the Lubbocks were murdered by that family of cannibals in the series finale of ”Just the Ten of Us’!


“And this door – where does it lead? Is anyone behind it? Maybe someone famous? Sadly, we’ll never know, as I lost the keys sometime ago and locksmiths are bullshit artists. Any questions? Keep in mind we’ve already explained that our outfits and entirely medical in nature and we won’t explain the matter further.”


Looking for an affordable actor to play an old woman, a van driving child abductor, or the Herman Stiles in your much-needed ‘Evening Shade’ reboot? Here’s your man!


And that, boys and girls, is why you don’t eat an entire bag of Sour Patch Kids in one mouthful.


“Check it out – my sweater matches this little breadstick! Speaking of little breadsticks, before we go any further with this date, I was wondering what your opinion on ‘sounding’ is…”


Despite his insistence that no one’s better at “the economy” than he, donald drumpf’s stimulus plan of flooding the market with his new “Trump Buck$” ultimately lead to a global depression.


Go behind the scenes with legendary actor Paul Giamatti as he prepares to star and direct in his next Emmy Award Winner-to-be this Sunday on ‘HBO First Look: Animal Farm’.


Alternate universe Andy Warhol celebrates his 105th birthday by reflecting on his fall into obscurity and rather boring post-celebrity life tomorrow night in an interview with Peabody Award winning journalist Chevy Chase on ’60 Minutes’.


“I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone named ‘Prince Albert’, nor anyone of regal birthright for that matter. Goodbye.”


Aw, poor guy just got his rejection letter from Disney about his script for Tron 3: the Dark Coder. I felt the same way when they refused my own scripts for Condorman Begins and The Black Cauldron Part 2 – Gurgi and the Cursed City of Gold .


Uh-oh, looks like Fido didn’t take to his new “All Vegan Tapioca and Creamed Corn Feast” canned food.


“Do you happen to have a pair of nail-clippers I could use? I lost mine in ’98 and just can’t bring myself to buy another pair, knowing that my old ones will just magically show up the moment I do. I would feel like such an idiot.”


Curly Sue’s later years weren’t really much to talk about. She tried to get a reality show off the ground, but after 75 different stations turned down the pilot, she gave up. She works as a Time-Life operator in Branson Missouri now.


Upset that the government is too busy concerning themselves with the Mexico border to address the true source of dangerous illegal immigrants, the Sons of North Dakota militia group take it upon themselves to protect their border from nefarious northerners… of which they’ve seen none.

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Anubis will return next time in
“The Man Who Laughs (and Kills)”

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.

Episode 74 – Journey to the West (2013)

or “Monkey Shines”

Featuring: Zhang “The Guillotines” Wen , Qi “The Transporter” Shu , Bo “The Story of David” Huang

Directors: Stephen “Kung-Fu Hustle” Chow & Chin-kin “Full Strike” Kwok

Writers: Stephen “Kung-Fu Hustle” Chow , Chin-kin “Full Strike” Kwok , Xin “Kung-Fu Hustle” Huo , Yun “Darkness Bride” Wang , Chi Keung “Shaolin Soccer” Fung , Ivy “The Lion Roars” Kong , Zhengyu Lu & Shing-Cheung Lee

Origin: China

Also Known As: Journey to the West: Conquering the Demons

Review_____

“I never got scared by seeing anything till now…but I am waiting for that day.”

Happy New Year! Unless you’re a native of the country today’s movie calls home, in which case you should come back and read this again on our after February 8th when the Year of the Fire Monkey (appropriate for this flick) gets underway. But for the rest of youse mugs, welcome to 2016! It’ll probably suck like every year before and after it, but why not give it the benefit of the doubt, eh? As the banner above states, the World Tour de Farce has taken some ExtenZe. Despite some roadblocks in last year’s stretch of globetrotting, I’m determined to see it through to the end! If you’re getting sick of movies full of Asian people (you racist!), then you might wanna come back sometime around March. For the rest of you, return your tray tables to the upright position, buckle your belts, and join me on this journey…TO THE WEST!

…By which I mean we’re going East. Don’t over think it.

China! Considered the longest running civilization on Earth (dating back to 6000 BC), China led (not to be confused with Chinese lead, which they paint exported children’s toys with) the world in arts and science for centuries until political and civil unrest gave their overall progress a case of the stutters, killing millions of people. The crown jewel of the remaining Communist nations is home to the world’s largest populace (1,373,000,000+ or 1/5 of the planet’s occupants!), the world’s longest continually used written language, as well as home to the planet condemning toxic industrial pollution cloud that will surely one day spawn Hexxus, setting into motion the next global extinction event.

If you’re a big fan of firearms and the 4th of July, think twice about disparaging the Middle Kingdom, because they invented fireworks and gunpowder. I guess that means we can blame them for all of the US’s mass shootings too? For fuck’s sake, even our domestic terrorism has been outsourced! The next time you wanna take a shit on China, also remember to thank them mid squat since they made it possible for you to wipe your crack with something other than your hand after. Yep, they gave us toilet paper too. They’re also responsible for compasses, printing, and paper, all of which are obsolete so who cares. China invented kites, originally made to scare off invaders who thought the flying paper constructs were dragons and demons. When it came to fending off legit evil spirits (and natural disasters) though, Chinese royalty used to keep Pandas around. Oh, and a number of historians like to credit/blame the Chinese for inventing soccer/futbol. Other popular inventions to come from the nation’s history include chopsticks (duh), iced cream, noodles, earthquake detection methods (for when the Pandas didn’t cut the hot mustard), mechanical clocks, methods of drilling for and harnessing natural gas, the decimal system, the crossbow (for you Daryl Dixon fans), martial arts (you’re welcome, Chuck Norris), silk, tea, and mapping of the circulatory system (“Cut, cut, cut, blood, spurt, artery, murder, Hitchcock, Psycho!”) among a few thousand other things!

The country officially became The People’s Republic of China on October 1st (they share a birthday with The Tomb!) 1949 under the stranglehold of leader Mao Zedong, who kept his grip on the citizens firm and chokey until his death in 1979. A whopping 22% of their export trade washes up on US shores, as can be seen in every day of American life with all of the stuff that has “Made in China” stamped on it. Nothing says “CAPITALISM!” like buying all of our cheap shit products from slave labor Communist manufacturing conglomerates!

Vascular disease and cancer are their leading killers (like pretty much everywhere else), though their infamous one-child law (recently changed to a two-child law) will take the biggest toll on their population depletion in the long run, as so many of their female babies were infanticised or put up for adoption to couples from other nations. This has left a fatal shortage of ladies to birth further generations, but has been a blessing for people around the world who put “diagnosed with Yellow Fever” on their Adult Friend Finder profiles. I admire their singular spawn stance, but feel it doesn’t go far enough. My burgeoning city-state will have mandatory sterilization or, as it’ll be called in government documents, the “All Children Left Behind” Act.

Cricket fights (the insects, not the sport) are a popular pastime (a new hobby for Michael Vick to consider) but stamp collecting is their most well liked way to waste time when they’re not making iPhones for a nickel an hour. Also, during the ’40s, Shanghai was the ONLY port in the entire world that accepted Jewish refugees without requiring an entry visa! This explains the ancient blood oath that sees Jews traditionally patronizing Chinese restaurants on Christmas. Oh, speaking of, the MSG engorged flavor orgies we stuff our faces with at the buffet? You know that stuff’s not actually Chinese in origin, right? Not even the fortune cookies. Those were invented in San Francisco.

Lastly, the highest grossing Chinese language film ever? That would be today’s movie!

Journey to the West isn’t so much based on the Chinese tale of the same name, as it is a prequel. Written 500 or so years ago (give or take), Journey to the West is considered one of “The Four Great Masterpieces” of the People’s Republic’s storied literary history. The other 3 are Water Margin, Dream of the Red Chamber, and Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Not to be confused with the four greatest literary masterpieces of the USA, which are The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Moby Dick, The Godfather, and the novelization of Adventures In Dinosaur City. Not just popular in it’s fatherland, Journey has been a HEAVY influence on a lot of different Asian productions, especially in the last 50 years. Hell, just type in “Journey to the West” on IMDB and you’ll get a good idea of how much influence it has! These include the original “Dragonball” series from Japan and the critically acclaimed (and commercially flaccid) video game Enslaved: Odyssey to the West, which I played about half of before being distracted by something with zombies in it.

Much like Hollywood, China’s movie industry is apparently guilty of the always irritating “they made a movie based on this, so we need to a movie based on it too!” mentality, as one year after Journey to the West, another such influenced flick (starring Donnie Yen and Chow Yun Fat) made its way to the light of the silver screen, called The Monkey King. Where that movie (series) is more about filling in the backstory of the eponymous primate, Journey‘s focus (aside from trying to convince us to “don’t stop believing”) is on the original story’s Buddhist monk protagonist, Tang Sanzang…under the name Xuan Zang?

Yep. Due to various translations across different languages, “Tang Sanzang” has a few dozen different acceptable aliases. I’m not a fucking etymologist, so if you wanna know more (and you generally trust Wikipedia), you can read aboot it >>>here<<< Or just do what I do in these situations: don’t ask questions, go along with it, and hope you’re not being kidnapped for a ransom no one is willing to pay. And that’s the story of why Uncle Anubis isn’t invited to make hand turkey drawings at Thanksgiving anymore. It makes everybody sad. I have to wear gloves so children don’t stare at me in public…

Xuan Zang (Zhang Wen) is a Buddhist monk and aspiring demon hunter. Not in the game for the glory, the money, the pussy, or the dehydrated fish, Xuan simply wants to help people by exorcising the forces of darkness from their lives. While other such hunters rely on an array of mystical artifacts and religious tools of the trade, Xuan’s weapon of choice is… *pause for dramatic effect* …a book of nursery rhymes. *pause for slide whistle “goodbye boner” sound effect*

Yes, Xuan is so faithful to the teachings of his Buddhist Master (Sihan Cheng) that he values the existence of even these dangerous, man-eating horror shows as being sacred. #DemonLivesMatter Demons in this context aren’t the same as their Western cousins. Rather than being twisted hellbeasts from conception, the Eastern demons are humans, brought back from the dead and transformed into monstrous animals by their lust for vengeance against the dickholes who wronged them in life. In keeping with that, Xuan opts to appeal to their inner purity (we’re all born innocent, after all) via capturing them and singing them lullabies to reignite the light hidden in their darkness. The spiritual equivalent of trying to find a peanut M&M in a bathtub full of black licorice jellybeans.

Gimme a second to tamp down the chunder geyser summoned by my amalgamating the words “black” and “licorice”. Uggh. Shit’s nastier than fish liver lollipops.

The problem with singing to demons to make them stop eating children and cutting people in half is that it generally doesn’t get the job done, so Xuan’s not the most successful demon hunter in the land. In fact, he’s the least successful. He’s openly mocked by his peers (and not just because he dresses like a filthy beggar with Ablutophobia), assaulted by ignorant mobs of civilians who really overreact when someone disagrees with them, and questions whether he’s a worthy disciple to his Master, who continually reassures Xuan that he is a great demon hunter. He’s just lacking that archetypal “je ne sais quoi” that most heroes pick up around the mid-to-end of their origin story. He needs his (speaking of French stuff) Voltaire quote as recited to him by a father figure named after a food mascot before said father figure’s tragic death as a result of the hero’s selfish negligence. Or, maybe he’ll luck out and a giant fruit bat will just fly into his face one dark and stormy night, after which he’ll don a cape & cowl and fight the monsters with little metal versions of his corporate logo and incoherent growling.

It’s on one on Xuan’s failed missions that our hero meets the far more accomplished hunter Duan (Qi Shu). Even though she laughs when he tells her about his Mother Goose methods of exorcism, she turns from sarcastic rival to romantic interest almost instantly, admiring the monk’s suicidal levels of bravery to battle beastly bad guys with just his brains, his beliefs, and his berceuses. You’d think she was Pepé Le Pew on Viagra and he was a 3-legged black cat with a streak of white paint down his back the way she Swimfans our man! She will have his babies by hook or crook (or crooked hooker?). Duan’s so infatuated with getting Xuan’s dick wet, she even follows him to the (Wild Wild) West when Master sends him to seek demon combat experience from a legendary figure known as Sun Wukong – the Monkey King (Bo Huang). As per my spoiler avoision vows (and given that this is one of the few movies on the Tour that you can currently stream on NetFlix), I will leave it up to you whether you choose to delve further into the tale or not.

Though I had a fun time watching Journey to the West, it made me realize that Stephen Chow is basically the Guy Ritchie of Chinese cinema – his movies are good, but are so similar in structure that you’d swear one or two of them were just Chinese knock-offs… or whatever the equal to a Chinese knock-off of an originally Chinese made product would be. Did you see Kung-Fu Hustle or Shaolin Soccer? Yes? Then you’ve already seen Journey to the West. A hapless, shabby hero with a good heart gets himself in over his head with deadly forces that will surely kill him in the final act if he doesn’t discover the inner strength needed to overcome his own self-imposed limitations. There’s an awkward romance, super powered martial arts weirdos (with at least one of them being an elderly person) who can explode buildings with a punch, peace & love vanquishing evil, slapstick combat with cartoony violence that leads to characters’ features being stretched like rubber (and making squeaky chew toy sounds in this case), and thinly-veiled morality stuff about not letting your ego defeat you, listening to your heart, helping people being its own reward, the best offense being a good defense, the only certainties are death & taxes, no glove no love, you can’t win friends with salad, and all that other Aesop shit meant to brainwash kids into towing the company line. Stupid kids. So easy to brainwash. I hate you so.

I’m not saying any of this is bad. There’s a comfort in predictability. Chow’s movies are always good for some dumb, well-choreographed fun and the characters are always interesting and comical in their own ways. Xuan makes for a perfectly fine Rudy Ruettiger “loveable failure” hero, Duan is an endearingly awkward tomboy-in-love, Master is a jolly and supportive father figure, Sun is a wily little old con artist, and all of the ancillary hunter characters are fun for their own reasons too. The actors all put on fine performances, despite my having no fucking clue what they were saying. Their mannerisms and body languages carried it. Especially Chrissie Chow, whose overwhelming sex appeal as Si demands that her more sultry scenes be cut into a “spank edit”. Sure, there aren’t a lot of said scenes, but just cut her dancing and grinding into a looping 3 minute clip and I’ve got what I need! *wink*wink*wank*wank*

On the scarred side of this double-headed quarter, Chow’s pacing continues to be a little bumpy. It takes a smoke break near the middle of the movie that elicited a few yawns from me and made the final act feel a little rushed for time. Then again, given the “epic but simultaneously anti-epic” fashion in which the final showdown plays out, it may have ended all the same even if given five more minutes. His special effects budgets never quite catch up with his imagination either. The demons here aren’t perfect, but at least they’re not born of the bottom of the computer generated monster barrel where the SyFy Originals skulk. I’d like to see someone with some pull here in the States give Chow a big fat Hollywood budget like Disney did when they put James Gunn in the captain’s seat for Guardians of the Galaxy. I think we’d get something equally full of heart and wowwy-zowwy sauce.

Chow started filming the follow-up for Journey (someday love will find you) last August, touting a cast listing that may include Chow himself, but has apparently not confirmed any of the first movie’s players making a return. This is older info, so fuck knows how things have progressed since, fuck nose. I look forward to seeing said sequel when it’s settled, whatever the case. Partially because I look forward to another Stephen Chow feature, and partially out of curiosity because I want to see if he changes up his formula yet or just goes continues riding in the same limo that brought him to the dance.

Here’s a bit of trivia for you before we part ways down the crossroads of our days. This isn’t Stephen Chow’s first interaction with an adaptation-of-sorts for Journey to the West. In 1995, he starred in a two-part feature called A Chinese Odyssey, where he played the fabled Monkey King himself, as well as a reincarnated version named Joker! The performance nabbed him a Best Actor award from the Hong Kong Film Critics Society, which has to carry at least some prestige with it, right? I mean, anyone who refers to themselves as a “society” has to be a respectable association, correct?

That’s all for this week! Hope everybody’s 2016 is exponentially better than their 2015 (even if you had a good 2015, because things could always be better) and that the “MST3K” reboot is as awesome as we’re all praying to Prince of Space that it will be. The World Tour continues with our next episode, same Tomb time, same Tomb channel!… provided I don’t get too wrapped up blitzkrieging the teeming zombie masses in Dead Rising 3 or getting embarrassed by 10 year old aspiring Planeswalkers in Magic Origins (Xbox Live tag: TombOfAnubis). Until then, make peace with your gods, you smelly dogs!

Moral of the Story: Sometimes the most peaceful of protests can hit your persecutor like the fist of an angry god… and sometimes it can hit them with the fist of an angry god.

Screenshots_____

“I can’t wait till mom finds out I replaced all of her birth control pills with Tic-Tacs! I’ll have a little brother one way or another!”


Either somebody just got Jaws’ed or someone went swimming without checking her menstrual tracker app first.


“And Saint Atila raised the hand grenade up on high saying, ‘Oh, Lord, bless this thy hand grenade that with it thou mayest blow thy enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy.’”


Gah! He’s Dopey from the Seven Dwarfs as one of those “cartoon character drawn hyper-realistically” pictures brought to life!


So Chinese guys can grow hair on their heads and their faces, but not a single follicle on their chests? They look like big man-babies. Creepy.


[Peter Griffin voice:] “It’s Jackie Chan!”


Big Edna just found out the cake is a lie… she’s not happy.


[Mr. Burns voice:] “Mattingly! I thought I told you to trim those sideburns! Thats it, you’re off the team, for good!”


How every patient sees a Proctologist when the probing gloves comes on…


Look out, guys! It’s the vengeful spirit of women whose serious boyfriends won’t propose to them! Run!


“Ahhh! Butthead! I’m bleeding! My nose is still bleeding!”


Are anybody else’s pants shrinking/getting wet, or is it just mine?


“My parents told me the angry pig god would hunt me down if I ate an entire package of bacon by myself! Why didn’t I listen?!”


It’s not the size that counts, it’s how you use it!


…Then again, I guess size does play some importance.


“I told you, I’m not a ghost, I just a vegan. And even if I were a ghost, I couldn’t grant you any wishes! That’s a genie!”


“You can watch me deep throat this whole banana for a dollar! For a fiver, I’ll deep throat something else…”


“Thank you mister crackhead, but I don’t have any money to pay you for this. It also smells. REALLY bad.”


A rare picture of Corey Haim in his final days. Hugs not drugs, kids.

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

Anubis will return next time in
“Heads on Pianos: Return of the Black Gift”

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.

Episode 65 – Kids Vs. Monsters (2015)

or “Willy Wonka’s House of Horrors”

Featuring: Malcolm “A Clockwork Orange” McDowell , Lance “Pumpkinhead” Henriksen , Richard “Satan’s Supper” Moll

Director: Sultan Saeed Al Darmaki (yes, I said typed “Sultan”)

Writer: Sarah “Lord of Tears” Daly

Origin: USA

Review_____

“She’s melting… on my beautiful carpet!”

If I smell like smoke, it’s cuz I’ve just been through Hel… and I wasn’t using a rubber. Deities don’t get STDs, and we don’t makes babies. At least not like mortals. We reproduce by budding! Speaking of masochism though…

Uggh. I could be in a luxury recliner at my local movie house seeing Crimson Peak, or preparing my Helter Skeletor costume for the Underworld Samhain Soiree. Yet, here I am instead, reviewing Kids Vs. Monsters. Son of a bitch.

Once again it’s that time of year that I (and I’m sure most of you) love best. When the Great Pumpkin rises, Garfield and Odie almost get murdered by ghost pirates (and one of the creepiest looking animated old guys this side of Heavy Metal), and “The Simpsons” reminds us how horrible the show remains with yet another “Treehouse of Horror” episode. A name that pisses me off more than Max Hardcore pisses on desperate crack whores, because the only time an actual fucking treehouse was involved with these Halloween trilogy specials was the first one, that came out TWENTY-SIX YEARS AGO! For Krusty’s sake, they don’t even frame the stories with an arching narrative anymore, it’s just “We’re lazy. Here’s three stories that have nothing to do with each other. Leave us to count our money”. BLART!

No. Come to think of it, this annoyance is a level higher than even a “BLART!” can properly express. So, in the spirit of the season, let’s give the “Treehouse of Horror” it’s own personalized degree of disdain: BLUMPKIN PIE!

While on the topic, you know what’s really horrifying? In The Simpsons Halloween Special VIII, during their parody of The Fly, Homer sets up one teleporter pod in front of the toilet so he can piss from the comfort of his living room. Moments later, he shoves his fist into the living room pod and accidentally punches Lisa in the face… meaning he punched her while she was on the toilet. Unnerving.

Back to Halloween! Though I’m an anti-social old curmudgeon who never does anything on the actual All Hallow’s Eve holiday, for the weeks leading up to it I can still enjoy the numerous horror related offerings available to me at the 30 or so drug stores within a 20 mile radius of the physical Tomb… which is a two bedroom apartment that we don’t actually refer to as “The Tomb”, but as “The Abomination”, since that’s literally the colorful name given to it by the rental company manager when he told us about it, referring to the post-apocalyptic condition the previous attendants left it in. This is the end of the world…(and that was the apoc-ellipsis)

Sorry, I was trying to avoid having to talk about Kids Vs. Monsters for as long as I could, but it’s time to bite the bullet. My alternate title for this episode probably should’ve been “Anubis Vs. Movie”. My first encounter with tonight’s flick was a random trailer scanned on Hulu. When I saw Malcolm McDowell and Lance Henriksen were front and center, I was sold! Now that I’ve seen it, I wish I’d kept the receipt. Stupid impulse buys. Oh, and Keith David’s here too!…inasmuch as Bruce Campbell was in From Dusk Till Dawn 2. Proverbial sons of proverbial bitches. It should be a law that any movie featuring a worthwhile name in a merely cameotic capacity should be forced to preface any use of their moniker in advertisements with “and featuring a BRIEF appearance by (name goes here)”. At least when Jeffrey Combs was in the House on Haunted Hill remake for 4 minutes without any lines, it was because he was the killer!

By the way, that movie’s old enough to get a driver’s license, so if you’re gonna bitch and moan about no spoiler warning on that, stuff your spooge sock in it.

As lame as it is, at least Kids Vs. Monsters is direct and doesn’t bog itself down with stuff like plot development. It keeps it simple and follows the Willy Wonka formula of taking a group of obnoxious children and punishing them for their shitty attitudes and personality flaws. The “kids” in question are all only-childs of incredibly affluent and wealthy single parents, and they’re introduced to us in an opening fluff piece on the evening news, as hosted by Barry (Keith David, who gets third billing for this all too brief role) and Mary (Elaine Hendrix). The failed abortions in question are:

  • Avatara Lovett (Taylor Stammen) – the world’s most obnoxious social media attention whore hipster, who speaks almost entirely in web shorthand (“L-O-L!”, “O-M-G!”, “YOLO!”, etc.), is one of those fucks who hashtags everything (including her queefs, I’m sure), and whose self-worth is based entirely on the number of Twatter followers she has. She’s why Gen X fogies like yours truly have a stroke when the media lumps us in with Millennial fuck-wads like her. Ava’s dad, Greg (Adrian “Duncan McLeod” Paul!), is a tech mogul otherwise known as “The Man Who Owns the Internet”. Does that mean we can get in on a class action lawsuit against him for all of the “See a young girls’ eyes glued shut with midget cum” spam I keep getting!? That’s actually the subject line of an email I received once, by the way. I don’t know if it came through on its promise though, because I was too horrified at the prospect to investigate. Naked dwarfs make me think of pudgy, hairy children. Anubis no like.

  • Bobby Fitmore (Jesse Camacho) – a corpulent lad who lives his life carbo-loading like a professional athlete, but doesn’t utilize it for anything other than making himself famine resistant and well insulated for those cold winter nights. He once ate the family dog when he was left alone in the house for half an hour with nothing but salad to snack on. His idea of a “well balanced diet” is 50% sweet snacks and 50% savory snacks. Just like everybody else who wears a tracksuit daily, he does zilch in the exercise department. His mom, Maxine Fitmore (Marry “Reno 911!” Birdsong!), is the queen of a line of gym franchises known as “Maxi-Fit”. Not even 5 minutes in and my brain is already desperately clawing at the insides of my skull to get out.

  • Candy Chance (Francesca Eastwood) – the perpetually bored (when she’s not talking about herself) bimbo beauty queen who’s won every pageant from Miss Iowa to Mister Universe (no, you didn’t read that wrong) thanks to her plastic surgeon daddy, Charles (Christopher Atkins), buying off every judge in both American continents. She even won Miss Natural Beauty and Miss Plastic Surgery. She’s constantly dressed in a pink pageant gown, including a tiara and an array of sashes denoting her various title wins that change to fit each scene. Candy also doesn’t miss a chance to drum up customers for poppa, as she passes his business card along to people after criticizing their appearance. She’s the kind of girl I’d love to introduce to Patrick Bateman…

  • Oliver Gingerfield (Daniel David Stewart) – a snotty redheaded bully (get it? cuz his name is Gingerfield?!… you’d better not be laughing at that, damn it) that fancies himself a street fighter. If Ron Weasley had an older brother who’d sit on him and not let him up until he’d pissed his own pants (Krug style), it’d be this twat burger. Ollie dresses almost entirely in studded denim like a kid from an ’80s high school punk band. Did that trend come back around, or is that just how the people behind the camera think that’s what tough guys still dress like? His mother Francine (Lee Purcell) is the world’s first “global politician” (whatever that means), and is known by her nickname, “The Copper Queen”. Probably because her family was so poor that she couldn’t afford a proper sex toy in high school, so she popped her cherry with a roll of pennies. The kids at the time probably weren’t aware that pennies have been 98% zinc since the early ’80s, so “Copper Queen” it is!

  • Molly Sealskin (Sydney Endicott… hey, I live in a town called Endicott!) – the timid, shy, quiet little “goth” wallflower that’s most likely of the group to shop at Hot Topic. Well, hottopic.com, since she looks like being in a physical mall might throw her into a social anxiety shutdown. She’s the adopted daughter to Cecilia Sealskin (Candace Elaine), who made her fortune in the endangered animals fur market. “Sealskin”, get it? Blumpkin. Pie. Given that Molly’s spot on the Obnoxious Ass Hats Scale (the most scientifically proven scale for Ass Hat measurement in the world) is barely a ‘1’ and she’s openly mocked by the other “kids”, expect her to see the end credits and find out who she gets to blame for ruining her would-be career.

  • David Knight (Bridger Zadina) – the soft-hearted goody-two-shoes who’s all about using his family wealth for charity and junk rather than buying himself the newest rip-off Apple product or $500 pair of artificially distressed pants. His family ties are also mob ties (imagining Michael Gross as a gangster now), as father Damian (Armand Assante) is a big wheel in the cracker factory that is organized crime. Poppa doesn’t appreciate his brat trying to make the world a better place with his hard earned illegal funds neither, or how he apparently ratted dear dad’s criminal ties out to the fuzzy wuzzies. Yeah, I could see that causing a less-than-pleasant atmosphere around the homestead. Speaking of homesteads, why are all of these rich people single parents? Does anyone else find that the least bit odd?

    The kids’ parents are all members of a self-appreciation cabal that scheme in unison to make each other financially richer and morally filthier. However, their goal to control 100% of America’s wealth is stymied by their a-hole money sponge spawn who soak up their money and attention. Each hates their kids individually, so to get their heirs out of the way, they connive. The answer on how to do it without getting caught presents itself though, in the shape of a horned old man (not a horny old man) in a furry cloak who goes by “Heinrich” (Lance Henriksen). Heiny’s the earthly emissary to a Luciferian figure known only as “The Boss” (Malcolm McDowell, not Bruce Spingsteen), who runs “The Monster Realm” (great name. I’m sure it took Ms. Daly less time than a sneeze to come up with it.): the dimension from which all monsters are said to originate.

    Having been banished there (the circumstances of which receive zilch back story), Boss now manages the place, deciding which monsters he allows to travel to Earth, and punishing those that break the rules. Well, the singular rule: don’t get found out by the humans. And what happens to those that break said rule? Death. Such as the business given a certain wicked prognosticator of witchcraft (who’s dangerously close to a copyright infringement reaming by the Warner Bros. lawyers) gets caught and ends up as a puddle in front of Capital B’s throne.

    Boss’s proposition to the sextet of “Worst Parent of the Year” nominees is to trick the tykes into each thinking they’ve been invited to some grand congress of like-minded individuals (a brawling tournament, a beauty pageant, an elite pie-eating contest, etc.), only to have them shuffled off to an old boarding school where they’ll be pitted against a posse of seven amateur monsters in his employ that are looking to prove themselves right into the big leagues via causing some grisly deaths. The parents even hang out in Boss’s viewing room to watch the hopeful extermination of their young and make sure they get their dinero’s worth. Not that they’re spending any actual money on this deal, since Boss is taking the kids’ souls as his price.

    As such, let’s meet the other half of our titular antagonism: the Monsters. As introduced through poorly animated origin vignettes, they are:

  • Melissa – a “last of her kind” space bug who was the only refugee from her meteor-detonated planet. She made her way to Earth in an escape pod (pretty advanced technology for an alien whose planet shows no signs of any technology during her back story) and now this oversized offspring of a lobster and a flea looks to spread her parasitic progeny here, from sea to shining sea. “Melissa” is a strange name for an intergalactic cockroach, but Miss Daly was probably feeling too lazy to pull a bunch of random tiles from a Scrabble sack, so she just went with the name of some woman she hated at her last temp job.

  • Roger – a ’70s science lab coffee machine-turned-disgruntled killer robot straight out the movie Spongebob watches in that episode where he thinks Mr. Krabs is a Terminator. Boss refers to him as “our terrorizing tin can of pure robot rage”. I think “Roger” is a shitty name for a robot, but I fully endorse Roger’s credo of “Destroy all hipsters”! The lesson here? Always unplug your old coffee machines during a lunar eclipse if you don’t have your Old Glory plan paid up. Or, you know, just throw out your obsolete technology…says the guy who will probably be murdered in his sleep by his Laserdisc player and Virtual Boy.

    (I tried to embed a Hulu vid for the “Saturday Night Live” Old Glory Insurance ad, but it wouldn’t take. Google it.)

  • The Batler (Richard Moll) – seeking a cure for his OCD, the Butler (that’s his only name) volunteered to play guinea pig for an experimental serum created by a mad doctor named Guano (har har). The juice transformed him into a werebat a la It Lives By Night. His name fills my brain with images of a Man-Bat version of Hitler. He’s also the servant who butles for the little turds while they’re there. His overacting is probably my favorite of the movie, but that could just be because I was a big fan of “Night Court” as a kid. I might’ve been just as biased if Batler were played by Ted Danson or Alan Alda.

  • Monsieur Babette (Phillipe Simon) – a French-Candian bigfoot whose love for candy forced him to get a job as a lumberjack (insert Monty Python references here) to pay for his habit. Having gone native, he was shunned by his fellow Saskatoon ‘squatches (including his mate, who herself wears hair curlers, yet disapproves of him wearing flannel and a tuke? Hypocrite.) and came to America to start a new life…as a child murdering Chewbacca with an ax and a poorly dubbed French accent. Adding insult to injury, apparently his feet aren’t all that big for a bigfoot. Well, that explains the real reason his wife left him.

  • Daisy (Anna Akana) – when a Japanese demon cat and an American tomcat make love not war, the resultant hybrid is a typical American “mean girl” teen who dresses like a typical Japanese teen (school uniform and cat ears) and can transform into a tabby. She can also tear you apart, literally with her sharp claws, or figuratively with her bitter wit and insulting sarcasm. The first could be avoided with some extra-large plastic nail caps, while you could probably just give her a few shots with a spray bottle to avoid the latter. I’d be more afraid of her spraying the furniture or trying to rape me when she’s in heat, but hopefully Boss took Bob Barker’s advice and had her spayed first.

  • Rebecca (Alexandra Hulme) – proof that lounge singers and spellbooks don’t mix, Becky needed new material to wow the denizens of the jazz club in which she crooned. She fucked up though, because the grimoire from which she snagged her new lines was full of unholy incantations. The result? She became Lady Cthulhu. Easily the most legitimate threat of the group, the Calamari Queen uses such sorceretical tactics as black magic fireballs and a binding spell that traps the millennial skidmarks within the house.

  • Mr. Beet (Michael Bailey Smith) – the road to Hell is paved with good intentions and Mr. Beet is proof. In an effort to make vegetables more appealing to kids, a benevolent scientist tried to create fruits and veggies with faces. Yes, because nothing will make kids want to scarf down the flora like making them more like people! What the fuck?! Anyway, after numerous failed attempts, the doc decided to put his own face on a beet. As with any science experiment in movies, shit went wonky and the guy wound up as a roughhousing brute with a giant root vegetable for a cabeza… I… don’t… even… no. Forget it. His makeup work is pretty solid for such a Fuddrucker of a flick, but let’s just move on.

    Strange how Boss told us earlier that the monsters all come from The Monster Realm (I can’t wait to stop typing that…), yet each of these monsters originates from our dimension. Shit, Batler, Becky, and Beet were all originally humans! This friggin’ script has more holes in it than the world’s biggest reverse gangbang. BLUMPKIN PIE!

    Will the brood of superfluous scions survive to continue their obnoxious caricaturistic ways, or will the bottom-of-the-barrel beasties prove they’re only the second most useless group this flick has to offer? Who will survive and what will be left of them? Do you really care? I didn’t think so. Believe me, watching it won’t change that. If you have an extra 100 minutes of your life you don’t mind flushing into oblivion though, and you’re curious to see how some people have no qualms with throwing away $7.5 million, don’t take my word for it – see for yourself!

    As mentioned before, KvM borrows half of its theme from Willy Wonka. The other half comes from The Monster Squad, inasmuch as there’s a group of kids fighting for their lives against a group of monsters…though the kids in question here are all adults and the monsters aren’t incarnations of classic horror icons, but flaccid creature features that try too hard for laughs that never happen. Oh, and there’s the small matter of how this movie also SUCKS harder than a prostitute on payday… or me on a PayDay. What can I say, I love sticky, salty nuts in my mouth. You heard me.

    At no point was I 100% positive of what it was I was watching here. Either time. It feels like an over-the-top kids style movie, but with adult themes that make it clearly not for kids. The lack of an MPAA rating doesn’t help matter. It’s like a modern day Garbage Pail Kids Movie, only with less farts and boogers. Not zero mind you, just less. It has the atmosphere and visual style of a Disney Channel Original or an extended episode of “Goosebumps“, what with all the goofy ghoulie rejects.

    Imagine if someone who squeezes out those agonizingly unfunny parodical secretions like Date Movie or Meet the Spartans were to dip their finger in their toilet after a hard morning’s diarrhea party and write an original script on the bathroom walls. I know I promised to cut down on the literal poop humor (see what you miss when you don’t show up for meetings, Bill?!), but this is honestly the best approximation of the creative process for writing Kids Vs. Monsters I could come up with.

    Not every joke and reference falls flat. There’s a direct quote lifted from Day of the Dead as one of the characters defiantly screams Captain Rhodes’ final words. So that was kinda cool. Another one of the (very) few I appreciated is the Hobnobblin. Not because of its resemblance to the cretinous hand-puppets of Hobgoblins, but because of its nom de reference to Frank Zappa’s song “Goblin Girl”. Unless that’s just a coincidence, in which case fuck me for trying to make brownies out of butt biscuits. Speaking of the few functional moments of humor, today’s episode is brought to you by Dracola – The soda that bites back!

    KVM‘s finale threatens us with the possibility of a sequel, but I’d rather use a cobra for a condom than have to have any more of my time and IQ sucked into this digitized black hole. Unless the only reason they give us the ending they do (which I won’t spoil, so suffer it yourself if it means so much to you) is so they could end on an agonizingly punny note, in which case I welcome Sarah and the Sultan to eat a bag of dicks. Not just any bag of dicks though. I’m talking a Party Size bag of thick, veiny, barbed wire wrapped cenobite dicks.

    Much like my Night of the Living Dead: Re-Animated review, where my only reason for sparing it a full blown case of criticism AIDS was its inclusion of Andrew Divoff, the only thing keeping this movie from total damnation (in this damn nation) is that it gives me a chance to see McDowell, Henriksen, David and Moll together in one place. Any day these guys get paid some of that sweet sweet Sultan moneys is a good day. Sure, you can reprimand them for selling their so-called souls for the sake of gas money, but we’ve all done things we regret to get by, and your pride won’t keep the lights on!

    The next episode will be in a matter of days, so don’t forget to get your ass back here and check it out! I’m actually pretty excited for it. Until then, make sure to check your candy for glass shards and razor blades! Happy Halloween my hallowed wienies!

    Moral of the Story: It’s easier to have someone dispose of your annoying kids than it is to raise them, discipline them, or generally deal with them. Hence, our family therapist growing up was a guillotine with a big sign next to it that said “I’ll give you something to cry about!”.

    Screenshots_____


    “Hey, YOU try being an older b-movie actor in this market, then you can make fun of me for taking bit parts in shitty movies!”


    Subway’s search for their new non-pedophile Jared continues.


    Ironic that she was elected “Miss TV”, given that she’s got a face for radio…


    Having failed his audition for Gremlins 3: the College Years, the Hobnobblin gives in to despair and takes his own life.


    “How much longer do I have to be here for this? I’ve got an appointment to duel another immortal at 4 o’clock, then I’m the guest of honor for a sci-fi convention in a Toledo bingo hall at 6.”


    You can find this costume at your local strip mall Halloween pop-up store as “Ill-Pallored Goth Female Spellcaster”.


    “How many times have I told you, I don’t want to see your scrapbook and I think it would be a terrible idea to try getting it published! No one cares about your blurry, off-center behind-the-scenes photos from Pumpkinhead or Schwarzenegger’s half-eaten danish from the set of The Terminator!”


    “Have a seat and get comfortable everyone. Feel free to help yourselves to a glass of my Ghoul-Aid! Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!”


    Please come to life and eat her. Please come to life and eat her. Please come to life and eat her… Bah! Stupid Coca-Cola mascot.


    Richard Moll really enjoyed the free catered breakfast at the shoot, but spent most of the day trying to tongue poppy seeds out of his bridge work.


    “RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIID?!”


    The human are dead.
    – The humans are deaaaaaaaaaad.
    We used poisonous gasses
    – and we poisoned their asses.
    The humans are… dead.
    … Binary solo!


    Out of curiosity, Malcolm and Lance decide to watch the two SciFi Original Pumpkinhead sequels… they vowed never to tell anyone about that night, under suicide pact conditions.


    “First one of you that says anything comparing my cooch to a fish market gets a one-way ticket to the Mountains of Madness! Got it?!”


    Gah! It’s the vengeful embodiment of the ghosts of all those cans of beets I used to blow up with M80s when I was a kid so mom couldn’t find them come dinner time!… I bet his favorite band is the Beetles… okay, I deserve a beeting for that one.


    That’s the laziest Hello Kitty cosplay I’ve ever seen. SHE HAS A MOUTH!


    Yikes. The switch over to HD really did Grimace no favors. No wonder they stopped putting him in commercials!

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

    Anubis will return next time in
    “The B-Team”

    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.

  • Episode 40 – ThanksKilling (2009)

    or “You’reWelcomeMurder”

    Featuring: Lindsey “Terror Firmer” Anderson , Lance “Hellementary: An Education in Death” Predmore , Ryan “Saturday Night Pillow Nights” Francis

    Director: Jordan “ThanksKilling 3” Downey

    Writers: Jordan “ThanksKilling 3” Downey , Kevin “ThanksKilling 3” Stewart , and three people whose names I refuse to type for their nebulous contribution of “additional dialogue”

    Origin: USA

    Sequel: ThanksKilling 3

    Review_____

    “Come on! I mean, it’s totally impossible for a turkey to kill a human, right?”

    Welcome to TheTombOfAnubis.com: the fly in your yams, the rock hard “tooth chipper” breadcrumb in your stuffing, the pubic hair in your grandma’s pumpkin pie. Putting the “turd” in your turducken since 1999… or 2013 if this version of the site is the only one you’re familiar with. I’m sorry I couldn’t pull off Turkey Day Month this year because I fell behind on a LOT of shit, and pushing it back to next February just didn’t seem right. Instead, I hope you’ll enjoy this holiday themed sampling of cinematic cranberry sauce. And if you don’t? I don’t care. I’m probably stuffing my jaws with actual cranberry sauce while you’re staring at this bullshit review! But, if you don’t wanna read this, just go to YouTube and watch riff master Joel Hodgeson do his own Turkey Day marathon of classic “MST3K” eps. It’s probably a hundred times funnier than whatever nonsense I’m gonna spew here for the next dozen or so paragraphs anyway. Or do both. Don’t care. The only thing I give less than thanks today are fucks. My “Give-a-Fucks” tank is on ‘E’. Speaking of ‘E’…

    Remember Blood Freak? If you don’t, you should feel survivor guilt levels of shame, because those of us who do remember Blood Freak will never be allowed to forget it. For 37 years (hey, a dick for each one!), BF was the preeminent (and solitary) killer fowl feature for bad movie masochists like yours truly to properly celebrate the holiday commemorating the genocide of almost an entire race of people! And no, I’m not talking about the Holocaust. But the day someone finally produces my World War II script about a ragtag crew of Jewish and Native American freedom fighters battling to save the world from Hitler’s legion of zombie turkey men led by the mutant clone of George Custer (and powered by engines of black magic infused alien technology), will be the day when we can truly end prejudice and accomplish world peace among all mankind. Make it happen, Hollywood. My phone is waiting for your ring-a-ding-ding. Oh wait, I dropped my phone in the toilet last night. Wait a week while I see if that trick with the bag of rice works and see if I can get the smell out.

    Speaking of Hebrew Hitler hunters, since Eli “Bear Jew” Roth never gave us a full lengther based on his Grindhouse faux trailer Thanksgiving, director/writer-to-be Jordan Downey stepped in to fill the cheesy Tom Turkey terror gap with gallons of his own off-brand Velveeta. Made in more time than it took Yahweh to create existence, but less time than it takes your true love to give you 12 drummers drumming (or 12 ramblers rambling if you’re doing the 12 Days of Robert Rodriguez), in 2009 Downey spent 11 days figuratively gluing macaroni and glitter to construction paper to FINALLY gift us trash cinema fetishists with something else to kill the time between the Feast of Gluttonsaurus and the sacred Next Day ReAnimation of the Leftovers. Like Atum jacking off into the primeval mound to create Shu and Tefnut (look it up), Downey used his self-love and spawned unto us ThanksKilling: a creation myth we should all stand behind…far behind…well defended by lead shielding if it’s available. Don’t want your genitalia to melt off/out like Tarantino’s in Planet Terror.

    Can we not have one Thanksgiving without someone’s reproductive organs ending up as molten slop all over the centerpiece?!

    Our story begins back in “the olden days”, circa 1621. Mere moments following the first Thanksgiving feast, we watch as a gifted (in the be-titted sense) lady pilgrim is stalked topless through the flora by Mother Nature’s most perfect killing machine: a tough talking turkey wielding a hatchet! Or, as Seneca Gallagher would call it, a Scalp-O-Matic. The fowl fatale catches up to the buxom blond, and murderizes her right into our opening credits. From here we’re DeLoreaned into the present. We meet jock alpha douche Johnny (Lance Predmore); obese redneck party guy Billy (Aaron Ringhiser-Carlson); socially awkward geekazoid Darren (Ryan Francis); “Girls Gone Wild” leftover Ali (Natasha Cordova); and her good girl/sheriff’s daughter/foil/friend Kristen (Lindsey Anderson). This “only in the movies” quintet are just thrilled to the gills (sorry, I apparently just became a 70 year-old lady) for their Thanksgiving break, and plan to spend the long weekend away from the prison system of academia partying together. Darren even declares that he’s going to have sex with a member of the group…not exactly naming names, so I wouldn’t rule out him blowing a load of cock snot between Billy’s sweaty side meat at some point, given the movie’s Troma-tic vibe.

    On the way to their destination, John’s jeep engine overheats in the middle of the night, so the party posse is forced to pitch their tents nearby and empty their alcohol reserves before the beers get warm. It just doesn’t taste right without that big stupid blue mountain on the side of the can! While they seek a campsite, the nerd trips over an old wooden sign (that looks like some inbred kids made it in summer camp arts & crafts) that says “Crawberg”. Once they’ve settled in, gathered ’round the fire and emptied some brewskies into their brains, Dorkus holds a little history lesson on Crawberg, and what turkeyologists the world over refer to as “Thankskilling”.

    Almost 400 years ago, one of Billy’s pilgrim ancestors besmirched a Native American medicine man in some fashion. Old Man Wampum Stomp ‘Em used the necromancy powers of his people (bet you didn’t know Indians could do that, didja?) to give rise to a feathered, gobbling, hatchet-bearing, revenge engine (revengine?) that would not only slaughter the buckle hatted denizens of the first feast, but would return from its murder hiatus every 505 years to do it all again! So…in 2126 then? Oh. Okay. I assumed it would be resurrecting sooner, like RIGHT NOW, but I guess we’ve got no movie now? Fuck. Well, good night everybody! Drive safe and don’t let your coffin be sealed with Tryptophan nails.

    Wait, nevermind. According to Darren, it IS 505 years later, thanks to the magic of *wink*wink* style movie bullshit. Probably the result of the writers either mocking bad movie tropes, or just straight up confounding people with basic math skills (or just proving their own lack thereof). Whatever the truth (it’s out “there”), the Gobbler of Gore is reanimated Elm Street 4 style, when a dog with a doom bringer bladder pisses its bestial sacrilege sauce onto the turkey’s tiny totemic tombstone. Flashy (the dog) is axed for his part in marking our monster’s like he was territory. This doesn’t sit well with Flash’s (ahhhhhhhh! Savior of the universe!) owner, Oscar (a guy credited solely as “General Bastard”), a crusty old reject from a Lynard Skynard concert who takes it upon himself to avenge his now-departed doggy/wife.

    Though the egregious game cock stalks the group, he’s not the most efficient of avian assassins, as everybody in the group makes it through the night with little more than the most minimal of run-ins. Kristen’s the only one to actually have a face-to-face with Turkie (as he’s credited on the box cover) before she runs off to tell the others, while Billy just gets shit on in his sleep. That’s what happens when you’re the first to fall asleep at the slumber party! We can chalk up Turk’s failure to being off his game due to Oscar’s interference, but the truth is more that this gives the bloodthirsty bird an excuse to pursue them further into the movie’s running time and up his bodycount with a few more throw away bit players.

    The kids reclaim their no longer overheated transport and continue on to their destination. Turkie gives chase, and his first human victim in half a Willennium (go ahead, get jiggy wit it) is a guy looking to get his dick wet in the feathered hitchhiker’s giblet gravy…he tries to fuck Turk is what I’m getting at. This nameless zoophile ends up as a shotgun smear on his car’s interior, and the succulently breasted bandit carjacks his way to continue his pursuit of his real prey. Though how Turkie manages to operate the gas pedals (let alone the shotgun) we’ll never know. Chalk it up to that wacky Indian necromancy, I guess!

    Upon arriving at his hunting grounds, Turkie wastes no time in decapitating Johnny’s dad following a cornholey Varsity Blues bonding moment, sending the (backup) quarterback fleeing in terror. Next on the killing floor is Ali’s ersatz lover (since John Boy didn’t take her slut bait) as the lad is slain mid-coitus, leading into the darkest scene of these 67 minutes when…uhm…Turk does the bump & grind on Ali in that “surprise! You thought it was somebody else’s penis inside you, but it was me all along!” way that’s kind of a gray area on the scale of 1 to rape. Either way, it’s a really unsettling scene watching our two pump chump antagonist achieve clucking climax, then telling the girl that she just got “stuffed” before he breaks her neck. Speaking of, I can taste my Stove Top coming back up typing about it, so let’s move on before I decorate my keyboard in herbs and spices. I ain’t got time for a game of “Name The Chunks”.

    With one of their number down, our remaining four head to Kristen’s dad’s place to pore over his vast volumes of forgotten lore in search of any useful knowledge they can use against their pluckable pursuer. This includes one of the movie’s most satisfying sequences, as a Groucho glasses wearing Turkie has a sociable conversation with Sheriff Roud (Chuck Lamb), who’s dressed like a turkey. It’s almost surreal, and ends with Turk wearing the old man’s face as the kids come knocking at the door. And of course no one realizes Kristen’s pa is a 2ft tall turkey wearing a cheaply constructed skin mask, chalking up the doppleganger’s odd appearance to the lawman having done “something different with his hair”. He’s no Uncle Frank (go watch Hellraiser). Shit, he’s less convincing than Leatherface wearing Jessica Biel’s boyfriend’s mug in the TCM remake! But, that’s the joke. Just let it go.

    After an extended “researching random books bought at a local yard sale” montage in the Rouds’ garage, our heroes (is that what we’re calling them?) discover the first step to their self-preservation is making Turk vulnerable by removing the mystical talisman around the monster’s scrumptious neck meat. When tub o’ guts Billy catches the killer motherclucker disposing of the real sheriff, he gets the terrorizing tom in a headlock and gives the others a chance to grab Turk’s neck decoration (neckoration?), but the entree escapes amidst the mayhem. Now they need to hunt him down so they can recite a demonic verse backwards in unison and burn him at the stake to be good and rid of him for reals.

    While separated from the rest, Billy is tricked into eating an illusionary turkey and gets Kaned (go watch Alien) as a result, with Turkie in the role of the baby Xeno. When the others find his big bloated inside out corpse, Darren breaks into another montage: this one of pleasant flashback scenes about the best friend times between he and his corpulent compadre. Awwww. When the time for reminiscing is finally over, the Triple Threat hunt Turkie to his roadside teepee (for my bunghole?) where they bind him and recite their backwards gibberish. They’re just about to set him ablaze and send him to poultry hell when Oscar appears from nowhere, shoots the fleeing fowl full of buckshot and sends his carcass flying into a nearby garbage bin packed with radioactive refuse. Convinced this is enough to end their holiday ordeal, Oscar says adios while Darren, Johnny, and Kristen decide to leave well enough alone and venture forth to watch Christmas specials! Oh how I hope they’re watching “Christmas Comes to Pac Land”…

    As expected, Turk’s not even close to being worm food and instead makes his inevitable return, now powered by the miracle of atomic mutation and varnished with a fresh coat of glowing green Toxic Avenger spooge. Darren will never again get to ply the famed “dance grooves” for which he’s known (you’d hardly recognize him under all that movie makeup), ending up instead with his tongue torn out and a peck hole in his chest big enough to put a penis into. If fucking dead nerds’ chest cavities is what you’re into, anyway. Hey, I don’t judge. Johnny gets an electric carver in his gizzards, but Kristen proves herself the sole survivor as she sets the gobbler ablaze with the classic DIY WMD Deus ExMachina: the aerosol flamethrower. Turkie’s toast. Oscar shows up for one last random pop-in and the movie ends on an epilogue about a family getting attacked by their Thanksgiving dinner while the threat of “To be continued… IN SPACE!” emblazons the screen. Truly, a movie made for b-horror nerds by b-horror nerds.

    I feared I was about to step into a dog turd minefield when I opted to take on ThanksKilling. Too many indie (i.e. cheap) horror comedies try to emulate Troma with hyper over-the-top gross-out moments, shocker humor and flagrant dick & tit barrages without managing even a molecule of the more subtle jokes and gags that keep Troma features from being overpowered by the sum of their own parts. They also neglect to realize the importance of delivering such elements to make them funny rather than just garbage. Great example? Anybody can say “fuck” and it won’t mean shit. But when someone like George Carlin or Richard Pryor said “fuck”, it was funny. They knew how to deliver it. ThanksKilling understands that. Downey knew the limitations of what he had to work with and utilized it to make something palatable rather than putrid. For starters, it’s shot on video, but doesn’t try to reach beyond those restrictions. The gore’s actually NOT excessive. By limiting it to just a few scenes, what is there could get the proper attention needed to look as good as they could afford to make it. Keeping on effects, Turkie is a pretty solid puppet for a no budgeter! Certainly not Jim Hensonian by any stretch, but pretty slick for a flick that was likely shot on cameras borrowed from the AV department of a community college by a group of nobodies who probably failed out of the same acting class.

    Overall, I was pleasantly surprised by ThanksKilling. Under the old laws, I’d give it a 3.5-out-of-5. But with the new ratings system I’m stuck on whole numbers, so I’m bumping it up to a 4. Definitely deserving of an annual Turkey Day double bill with Blood Freak. When watching, just be sure to apply the “Mystery Science Theater 3000” Principle to your viewing experience: if you’re wondering how that does this, and other science facts, repeat to yourself it’s just a movie and you should really just relax. More often than not, I’m the first to give the finger to such absurdity, but in a movie whose premise centers around a murderous, centuries old, trash-talking zombie turkey, save yourself the trouble and give in to the trusty old “popcorn movie” adage of shutting off your brain before you hit play.

    Before I go, does anybody know where I can get extra small, gravy flavored condoms? I’m asking for a friend. No, really. Horus is hung like a hamster and this half-raven demigoddess He’s been seeing lately has this fucking weird gravy fetish. Nice girl though.

    Moral of the Story: Want to divorce your spouse, but not sure of the best way to break the news? Shit in their morning coffee.

    Screenshots_____

    “… there was the first utterance of the ‘pull my finger’ joke.”


    First released image of Chandler from the “Friends” prequel series “Peers“.


    “How about you and I discuss my proposal to change the traditional Thanksgiving food? How do you feel about… ham? Lasagna? Big Macs?!”


    Before he became famous, Larry the Cable Guy used to donate sperm 5 days a week. Say hello to every high school dropout below the Mason-Dixon Line for the next 10 years.


    “Can you count my nipples for me? I lose track after 5.”


    Coming to IMAX next summer, Ted Nugent: In Search of the Wango.


    Wow. They’ve officially reached “bottom of the barrel” with the newest season of “Survivor“. At least it shouldn’t last more than a few episodes.


    Following the loss of his other shed, The Artist Formerly Known as Arthur “Two Sheds” Jackson chose to live the rest of his life in seclusion with his remaining shed.


    “Hello, Mustache Club for Men? I received my Mustache of the Month for November, and nobody believes it’s real. I’d like to return it for a refund.”


    The Three Stooges, as chosen by marketing demographics and test audiences today.


    This is why you never hire a demonic turkey as your barber. Especially if he would’ve preferred to be a lumberjack instead. (Yep, that’s two Monty Python references today. You’re welcome.)


    There are some who say the Boggy Creek creature is still out there, thumbing his way across the back roads of Americana, gathering material for his own version of the Great American Novel.


    I haven’t seen this much fully-clothed intercourse since that Mormon porn video my friend made me watch. His hope of kickstarting the next great wave of viral reaction videos didn’t exactly live up to the legacy of “Two Girls One Cup”.


    If you put psychedelic mushroom gravy in your mashed potatoes, then watched Eraserhead and My Dinner With Andre on two TVs set next to each other, eventually this is what you’ll see.


    “But… I still don’t get it. Why would anyone wanna eat GREEN eggs?!”


    “I’ve got the weirdest boner right now!”.


    “Honestly Jim Bob, when you said you wanted to ‘cream in my mouth’, I thought you meant something much different. This is SO much nicer though!”


    Another unfortunate victim of Russell Crowe’s latest trip to the AT&T Store to complain about his iPhone.


    A promotional still from Jordan Downey’s new project for the Hallmark Channel, ThanksCuddling.

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

    Anubis will return next time in
    “Un-Living Color”

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    Episode 28 – Return to Nuke ‘Em High Volume 1 (2013)

    or “Alma Mind Over Alma Mater”

    Featuring: Asta Paredes , Catherine Corcoran , Vito Trigo… you’ve never heard of either of them and you may never hear of them again… until Return to Nuke ‘Em High Vol. 2 anyway.

    Director: Lloyd “Class of Nuke ‘Em High” Kaufman

    Writers: Travis “Mr. Bricks: A Heavy Metal Murder Musical” Campbell , Lloyd “Class of Nuke ‘Em High” Kaufman , Derek “Johnny Test” Dressler , Casey Clapp , Aaron Hamel

    Origin: USA

    Sequel to: Class of Nuke ‘Em High / Class of Nuke Em High Part II: Subhumanoid Meltdown / Class of Nuke Em High 3: the Good, the Bad, and the Subhumanoid

    Sequel: Return to Nuke Em High Volume 2

    Review_____

    “Fuck me with your fish dick, Gill!”

    Sorry about taking so long to get this review together, faithful readers. Suffered a bout of creative constipation in recent weeks, and given the shit that did finally come out, it all hardly seems worth the antici………… pation. Right? Oh well, fuck it. I’m here, you’re here, the bed covered in condoms and lube is here, so let’s just get down to the dirty horseplay!

    What’s up with Troma these days? The last big production I remember them having was Poultrygeist, and though I really enjoyed it in fine traditional Tromatic fashion, that was way back in 2006! When I was in junior high and started watching these perverse, violent, cornball, cheap-o, safe sex, anti-pollution, feature length public service announcements, it seemed like they were churning out new movies every other year! Then again, I started late in my anthropological studies of the historic civilization of Tromaville, New Jersey’s bastion of bacchanalia, so maybe my being able to indulge in so much catching up via my local Video Pharaoh rental store just made it seem like an endless smorgasbord of sluts, guts, and butts. Either way, at this time of year, when students the nation over are chomping at the bit to dive head first into summer break like it’s a swimming pool full of beer and ecstasy, what better time to head back to the infamous campus of Tromaville High School?

    Originally established as the second keystone of the radioactive waste dump house that Toxie built, the first Class of Nuke ‘Em High was very much a classic handcrafted creation of the underground, punk rock, anti-establishment, yuppie smashing, movie terrorists of the ’80s. It had tits and violence and mutants and marauding street thugs and immature dick & fart humor in perfect excess, all brought together by honor roll graduate of the Roger Corman School of Guerilla B-Movie Making, Lloyd “Turn Your Head and” Kaufman! Nuke Em High sang a song my teenage hormones could not resist. The sequels were…bad. Not in the fun way, though. ’90s Troma just wasn’t the same as ’80s Troma. They were definitely Troma productions, but aside from Tromeo & Juliet and Terror Firmer, it really wasn’t a great decade.

    Much like Poultrygeist, Return to Nuke ‘Em High embraces the condemnation of the modern additives-centric food industry rather than the classic Troma trope of spraying diarrhea over the environment ravaging nuclear power estate. Now, I know you’re asking, “But Uncle Anubis, if it’s not about giving the ol’ fuck-you-finger to dangerous atomic power barons, then how in the name of Set’s nipples is it a Nuke ‘Em High movie?!”. Well, if you’d shut your shit vacuum and gimme a minute, I’d caress your cheek with my plot hand and whisper sweet expository nothings (not to be confused with suppository somethings) into your crusty ear canal like the dumb movie Don Juan that I am. So, yooooou juuuuust reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally waaaaaaaaaaaanna knoooooooooow what’s going on… at Nuke ‘Em High? Here goes – It’s been almost 20 years since the Tromaville Nuclear Power Plant had its second catastrophic destruction (at the fuzzy feet and nuts of a giant radioactive squirrel monster), taking with it the Tromaville Technical Institute it had built as penance for destroying Tromaville High School in its maiden meltdown during the climax of the original movie. Rather than tempt fate a third time by building another set of those big billowing concrete cooling towers, New Jersey’s very own Three Mile Island (to be honest, the whole state’s pretty much a Chernobylian disaster even without Tromaville) instead becomes the site of Tromorganic Foodstuffs Inc., while the old school grounds are the site of a wholly rebuilt Tromaville High! All of this is laid out for us in the film’s opening by none other than the deification of fanboy culture, Stan “the Man” Lee! Genuine geeks known Stan as the architect of Marvel Comics, and four-color know-nothings will just recognize him as “That old Jew who shows up in all those comic book movies!”. Stan gives the Nuke ‘Em flicks his own special brand of loquacious recap…well, the first movie. His treatments of Episodes 2 and 3 are less recaps and more summations of how we all felt about them. Also, Stan likes boobs. Dirty old man.

    Oh, and don’t be alarmed if Tromaville looks a lot like Buffalo, NY. Apparently New Jersey would rather have its image ruined to the rest of the world with the true life horrors of Jersey Shore and Chris Christie rather than risk potential tourists mistaking salacious sociopolitical satire as a documentary. Trust me, Tromaville’s New Jersey is Candyland compared to the real thing. At least their Molasses Swamp isn’t full of bodies and their Princess Lolly isn’t a walking, slurring breeding ground for pubic lice and fetal alcohol syndrome.

    Back on task, our new Nuke ‘Em High alumni-on-the-verge-of-having-incredibly-horrible-lives consists of our orphaned lesbian activist heroine Chrissy (Asta Paredes), the well-to-do duck owner and new-to-school Lauren (Catherine Corcoran), Chrissy’s blue-balled borderline psychotic boyfriend beard Eugene (Clay von Carlowitz), token black guy Slater (Stefan Dezil), Slater’s girlfriend whose name I didn’t bother to learn, and their fat, whiny, Prince Albert-ed geek stereotype friend whose name I actively pushed out of my brain because he’s just way too annoying to waste any of the already limited storage space of my gray matter hard drive on remembering it. By his own definition, the guy’s a “jelly roll, jizz dwarf, snatch badger, ass troll” who loves Batman & Robin, so that’s all you really need to know about him. There are also some random victims, a sex ed teacher who doesn’t come to a very happy ending (Get it? Sex ed? Come? Happy ending?), the school priest/football coach Father Sandusky (because child molestation jokes), gym teacher Coach Kotter (Debbie Rochon, stopping by quick to remind my penis she still exists), the disgustingly sloppy Rush Limbaugh parody Principal Westly (Babette Bombshell, who takes the prize for weirdest name on their SAG card… and is a credit that I’m not entirely sure is correct), and the Poofs – Tromaville High’s glee club, who are an unsublte parody of the cast of “Glee”, and are destined to go the way of the original Nuke ‘Em High‘s very same extracurricular group… which, if you’ve never seen the original, then (1.) you’ll have no idea what I’m talking aboot, and (B.) shame on you. Either way, we’ll get to that part momentarily, so just keep your boots on, Flesh Gordon.

    Back to Tromorganic, having been built on the power plant grounds they’ve found a sizable stockpile of that Troma Green (my favorite Crayola color) toxic slime to use as filler for their so-called organic health food. Well, everybody’s always pushing the whole “go green” agenda, and you don’t get much greener than Troma Brand Nuke Sludge! Besides, feed some to your pet terrapin and you’ll have your own posse of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles before you can say “Eat a bag of dicks, Michael Bay!”. No longer able to sell their products to American fast food chains due to a few lost-then-found human bits (or, as I call them, the special toy surprise in every bite), Tromorganics company head Warren Herzgauf (Lloyd Kaufman, having a hell of a time not spilling milk all over himself) has pulled some strings with political associates (including President of the USA – Lemmy!) to get their not-so-organic delights deemed the official cafeteria garbage of schools all across New Jersey!

    See? The “Nuke ‘Em High” moniker still fits. There’s no risk of nuclear detonation, but there’s still going to be plenty of teens being exposed to radioactive elements. Meanwhile, Lloyd Kaufman gets to give the Cleveland How’s-Your-Mom to the pink slime “meat” production industry, the fast food industry that tries to get their products into schools, AND the politicians whose pockets are packed with both aforementioned industries’ jizz and coke encrusted hundred dollar bills. Lloyd Kaufman – still striking out at industrialized evil with bad little dark comedies that are only watched by the same few thousand audience members that have been watching them for years.

    While she’s not trying to take down Tromorganic with the hard-hitting junior journalism of her personal blog (that has even fewer readers than I do!), Chrissy’s attentions are focused on avoiding the sexual advances of her boyfriend (who has no idea the clam buffet he’s trying to get a seat at is reserved for members of the pink mafia only) and bullying new girl Laura. Said bullying isn’t really about Chrissy working out the emotional trauma of being an orphan, or even about hating Laura’s money. It’s obvious from the first exchange of glances that our anti-heroine is doing the “playground flirt” and pushing the girl she’s got a crush on into a pile of dog poo. Will this homo squish mission end in true love for Miss Chris? Or will it result in unrequited failure to launch because Laura’s female socket only takes male plugs? All I’ll tell you is that a giant mutant wedding tackle comes between the two before it’s all said and done.

    Come Taco Tuesday at Tromaville High, the student body fill their student bodies with all the tainted imitation meat they can stomach thanks to the generous donation of Tromorganics. However, the Poofs get special treatment, and are fed chemically contaminated guacamole (despite being specifically told it was NON-chemically contaminated!). While the shock guac turns the school’s biggest nerd into a one-man meltdown (on which Principal Westly blames the boy being diabetic) a la the drinking fountain casualty of Nuke ‘Em 1, the Poofs are mutated into the Cretins – a gang of hyped up ultra-violent outland mutant rejects from Mad Max… well, more like Warrior of the Lost World than Mad Max, but you get my gist. They’re basically the embodiment of how every tenant at your nearest nursing home describes “teens today”, while still thinking it’s 1983. However you want to describe them to the police sketch artist, just don’t call them Juggalos or you’ll end up airborne and immolated in the KabukiCar.

    For those who don’t know what the KabukiCar is, it’s become Lloyd Kaufman’s version of Sam Raimi’s Oldsmobile. If you don’t know what Sam Raimi’s Oldsmobile is, get thee to a Googlery! In other words, just Google it. Bad enough this review’s a few weeks late without having to hold a bad movie seminar on Easter Eggs! Speaking of, the KabukiCar originated in Troma’s Sgt. Kabukiman NYPD (hence the name) and is a clip of a big deal car stunt where a blue sedan is sent flipping 30ft into the air before crashing to the ground and exploding. It’s probably the most expensive scene in Troma history, hence why Lloyd gets as much mileage out of it as he can by inserting it into every Troma production since. It’s a big *wink*wink*nudge*nudge* for Troma fans, like the frequent Toxie and Kabukiman cameos, and the Troma movie posters that every character in the Tromaverse decorate their walls with.

    The rest of Return is basically watching the Cretins commit acts of mayhem and Chrissy trying to pickpocket Laura’s ham wallet until the inevitable cock block ending that makes us wait until the next movie before resolving anything. What? You didn’t think a movie with “Volume 1” in the title wasn’t going to make you pay more money to see its conclusion, did you?! Yep, just like Tarantino divided Kill Bill into two “Volumes”, Kaufman has done the same here. As an homage? As a cash grab? As a joke that’s about a decade past its “sell by” date? Only Lloyd knows for sure.

    Wondering if this latest iteration lives up to the lofty standards set by previous Tromatic entries (the kinds of entries with snapping jaws and corrosive fluids that the Surgeon General suggests keeping your penisy parts away from) in regards to graphic violence, barely legal nudity, and dick & fart humor delivered by comically ugly and/or overweight people? Allow me to put your nerves at ease: in the opening scene, a young couple engage in explicit sexual activity in the school janitor’s office/apartment, until they’re accosted by a monster shaped like a big mutant cock, the guy gets his dong torn off, and the girl’s flesh melts off before the comically rotund janitor returns to show complete disinterest in something that he’s probably seen a few dozen times before. I’m sorry to say that I know exactly how he feels, too, because I’ve now seen Return to Nuke ‘Em High.

    Just like that janitor’s seen it all before, his reaction is the setup for the big joke that Return really is. Despite Stan Lee’s opening narration laying the groundwork for this being a sequel, it’s actually a remake. The title itself is a big meta joke – we’re not just returning to the locale of the titular high school, we’re straight up returning to the original source material of the first movie. So many scenes are directly lifted from the original, you could tell me that 90% of the script was just Xeroxed copies from the Class of Nuke ‘Em High script with big red editor’s notes scribbled in and I wouldn’t doubt you. They didn’t even change the name of the female lead! I know I made the Tarantino comparison two short paragraphs ago, but Kaufman also feels like he’s aping Peter Jackson, because much like Jackson’s Hobbit trilogy, Return to Nuke ‘Em High feels like it’s artificially hyper-extending the story it’s supposed to be adapting. Again, it’s probably all meant to be tongue-in-cheek, but for the people paying to be an audience to it, that may be a tongue covered with oozing green pustules that they don’t want anywhere near their cheeks, front or back.

    I haven’t had this much controversy about the way something was cut since the argument I had with that hooker who wanted to charge me extra for oral because I’m uncircumcised! Wakka-wakka! *rimshot*

    Alrighty, enough with that stuff. Let’s get to the meat substitute and DDT-free potatoes of today’s feature. For better or worse, it’s your basic Troma blueprint: intentionally cheesy in EVERY respect, liberal on the liberal social editorializing, pokes Hollywood right in the eyes, heavy on graphic oozing displays of gore, more than enough scenes of young people getting nekkid on each other, and feels overall like it was put together with model airplane glue by a bunch of movie school dropouts in need of Ritalin between sessions of huffing said glue. That’s by no means a condemnation, just a preparation for what you are about to receive, should you opt for this belly buster off the value menu. If you’ve seen Troma, you know what your eyeballs’ taste buds are in for. If you haven’t, here’s a free pro-tip: the secret sauce is just mayonnaise left out in the sun. This quote from the movie sums it up better than I ever could, “It’s cheaper than monkey shit and these kids can’t get enough of it in their gullet!”

    Now, what did I like, specifically? Aside from having an inner child who will never stop enjoying gore and naked women, my more mature adult self enjoys the social commentary, while my bad movie geek persona enjoys picking out the fan nods and synching up which scenes are direct re-hashes. The dialogue is pushed more for gags and stacked with quotables, but if you’re expecting high drama from these guys, you need to go watch a few episodes of “Troma’s Edge TV” and temper your expectations. The music’s a definite plus for me. That classic Nuke ‘Em High theme still lays eggs in my ears every time I hear it. After watching this, I had trouble sleeping for a few days because every time I’d lay down and close my eyes I’d hear “IIIIIIIII…. juuuuuuuuuuust… reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally waaaaaaaannaaaaa knoooooooooow!” between my ears, making it impossible to shut my brain up long enough to embrace unconsciousness! Fortunately, a handful of sleeping pills and a hot water bottle full of blood from a narcoleptic baby finally put me down, so there’s no need for anger. The rest of the tunes are pretty catchy as well, so this is another Troma soundtrack that I think I’ll be seeking for the collection. Not as good as Tromeo & Juliet or Terror Firmer, but worth a spot on the shelf. That’s right, this old man-jackal still has physical media. Bite me.

    As far as the “played for shocks” stuff goes, I might as well be wearing a rubber gimp suit because I’m pretty impervious to shock at this point in my desensitized life. Example: there’s a part in the movie that the easiest descriptor of which would be the “duck rape” scene. If you thought the tree rape scene from Evil Dead was disturbing, well…yeah, it’s still pretty disturbing. Especially if the first time you saw it was with your parents, much like I experienced on Halloween night when I was 14. Lots of weird looks and questions of, “David, why did you pick this movie to watch with your family?”. It’s way more disturbing than the duck rape scene. The duck rape scene’s not nearly as traumatizing as your own mind might have already made it out to be. I run the risk of sounding like pure sleaze by saying this, but I really expected more from Troma when they promised me duck rape. I think I was more upset that I had to look at Judah Friedlander in his brief cameo than I was by the duck rape. I think I’m more upset that I keep typing “duck rape” than I am by the actual scene of duck rape! Blart. It’s like you’re barely trying anymore, guys.

    Speaking of Friedlander (and his stupid trucker hat schtick), I don’t know if there were a lot of other notable cameos I missed beyond that and Lemmy’s quick minute as the President. The store owners from “Oddities” also get about 3 seconds of screen time (oddly enough, also during the duck rape scene), but I would’ve been far more hyped if it were the Maxx and the Head from MTV’s animated ’90s series “Oddities” instead of SyFy’s “weird shit curio shop” show. I’ve been to that store, by the way. Looks like Michael Jackson’s basement…not that I would have any reason to have been in Michael Jackson’s basement…uhm…moving on!

    Speaking of cameos, long time Troma faithful will be happy to see a cameo by the Toxic Avenger’s long-time semi-nemesis Cigar Face (Dan Snow)! Be warned, he may give you six new assholes after he tells you the origin of his name.That one was for the HUGE fellow nerds reading this. For the rest of you? Pecker snot. Why? I didn’t want you to feel left out.

    Last call – though entertaining in its own right, Return to Nuke ‘Em High is less than the sum of its parts. If it weren’t just a bloated re-packaging of the original and gave us something new instead, I probably would’ve liked it more. For those hoping for a new revolution from the little bad movies studio that could, Troma’s just giving us Malibu Stacey with a new hat, while I’m content to just keep playing with Malibu Stacy Classic. Now, pardon my sudden departure as I go off to have a Cigar Face t-shirt made up. Later, spectators!

    Moral of the Story: Propagation is health, being gay is worse than being black, and duck rape is life affirming. But, you can stop waiting for MySpace to come back, because the crack of doom is coming soon.

    Screenshots_____

    Proof that if you sell people 40 different versions of Army of Darkness on DVD, you’ve make enough money to finance your own movie releases!


    Stan’s finally absorbed enough radiation from his microwave to prove Comic Guy wrong – he CAN turn into the Hulk!… or at least Bill Bixby.


    This is what happens when someone gives you “the Shocker” during your period. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, “the Toxic Shocker”.


    How Santa spends the other 364 days of his year.


    Because President Lemmy doesn’t NEED a last name!


    A tale as old as time, destined to end in tragedy (i.e. duck rape): beauty and the fowl.


    Lloyd Kaufman’s doing the next Fantastic Four movie! Couldn’t be worse than Roger Corman’s… or the Fox ones, now that I think about it.


    “Listen up, my conservative soldiers! This is your brave leader Rush, reminding you that explaining your position is never an option! ALWAYS DEFLECT, DEFLECT, DEFLECT! Just shout “OBAMA IS A SECRET COMMUNIST KENYAN MUSLIM NAZI!” as loud as you can and you’ll never lose an argument!… and if my ‘doctor’ is listening, I need a ‘prescription refill’. Gracias.”


    It’s sad how the biggest shitheads always have the coolest t-shirts… and yes, I own a LOT of cool t-shirts.


    A little something for the ladies! Incidentally, that’s exactly what’s printed on the front of my boxers.


    …THE CAST OF CITY LIMITS!


    Stephen Hawking: the college years.


    Surfboards adorned with swastikas?! Surf Nazis Must Die 2: Fourth Reich Boogaloo confirmed!


    The answer to “Whatever happened to Michael Hayes?”… that one was strictly for my wrestling nerds.

    Anubis will return next time in
    “Mommy’s Little Monster”

    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.

    Episode 21 – Android Cop (2014)

    or “The Sixty Dollar Man”

    Featuring:  Michael Jai “Black Dynamite” White , Randy “The Dukes of Hazzard: the Beginning” Wayne , Kadeem “Def By Temptation” Hardison

    Director & Writer:  Mark “Knight of the Dead” Atkins

    Origin: USA

    Review_____

    That skin job. That psychopathic soda machine. That menace!”

    Disclaimer: in the wake of our last episode, Abraham Lincoln Vs. Zombies, I’ve challenged myself to stay clear of any and all fecal allusions (aka “poo-llusions”) for this review. Will my wit carry me through this self-imposed censorship to new heights of humor, or will it go over like a wet fart at brunch? Only one way to find out…

    Oh, and that “wet fart” comment was part of the disclaimer and NOT the review proper, so it doesn’t count. Blart.

    The Asylum. We meet again.

    Every time a big deal movie comes out, you can bet they’re just waiting in the rafters to swoop down and torment us again like Gilberto’s war wound (“THE WOUND!”)! We’ll never fucking be rid of them. This is my second Asylum visit in as many weeks, and my third such run-in in six months. I’m starting to have nightmares. Poorly shot, badly structured nightmares where the people all talk like they’re reading from scripts by high school dropouts who couldn’t get work writing for small town used car lot commercials on their best days. Nightmares littered with special effects horrors thrown together on some AV geek’s iPad. Do you think they call themselves The Asylum because sitting through too many of their movies will get you institutionalized? If enough of my next-of-kin read these reviews, can they call the guys with the straitjackets on me and get me padded room accommodations at the loony bin (preferably the one from Dead Pit) because I’m a danger to myself? Wouldn’t be the first time and won’t be the last, either. To paraphrase Bob Dylan: how many Asylum movies must a man sit through before they can call him a man? Whatever that hypothetical number may be, I’m pretty sure I’m due my Bar Mitzvah after this one. Though you can bet that, were I a Jewish girl, my Bat Mitzvah would be populated with people dressed as Batman in yarmulkes. Appropriate since his creators Bob Kane and Bill Finger were both Jewish! *The More You Know*

    Alright, Android Cop. I “discovered” this clusterfuck like most parents “discover” their kids’ lost LEGO blocks – with complete surprise, followed by seemingly endless pain, and a rage that makes the skies tremble. While researching for my Black Dynamite review, I wanted to see what’s been distracting Michael Jai White from making Black Dynamite 2. Amongst other things (like the critically acclaimed “Mortal Kombat: Legacy” web series and the “Black Dynamite” animated series), White made a car payment with this Asylum cesspool of elements stolen from WAY better movies. More than just the RoboCop rip-off you’d expect it to be (it even straight up steals “The Future of Law Enforcement” tagline from the RoboCop poster!), Android Cop gets greedy and makes its way through the sci-fi movie retirement home, stealing pills and jewelry from the rooms of a handful of unsuspecting movies left to stare out of their windows while they piss their Depends in blissful ignorance. Way to scumbag it up, AC. Dredd. The Surrogates. Escape From LA. Doomsday. Hell, they even try to steal the entire plot of non-sci-fi classic The Warriors, but just kinda dropped the idea altogether, nonplussed with whether the audience (i.e. poor suckers like myself forced to watch it Clockwork Orange style) would notice or not! Then again, given their track record, The Asylum’s too busy wondering which movies to purloin for their next feature (and which off-shore account to hide the unspent production costs in) to worry about what the people paying to see their movies think…proof that capitalism doesn’t work.

    The year is 2037…but ignore all of the early millennium brand cars and technology, because it’s 2037 and it’s your own fault if you ruin the illusion by pointing it out. A massive earthquake has left much of L.A. looking oddly similar to a gravel pit in some parts, a Spahn-like movie ranch set in others, and some poorly made dystopic digital cityscape background art for the rest. What was once Beverly Hills is now referred to as “The Zone” (sharing its name with this awesome DVD store I used to frequent that sold bootleg discs for Japanese movies like Lady Snowblood, Baby Cart to Hades, and this weird ass Ninja Turtles henshin cartoon called “Super Turtles” that you can watch here). A victim of nuclear fallout, it’s where the poor radioactively contaminated people are forced to live in exile while the nastiest gangs of miscreants on the West Coast have ALL set up shop there due to the lack of a police presence… and because they’re not too worried about the minor nuisance of all that RADIOACTIVE FALLOUT. When the LAPD SWAT do go into The Zone to hunt down a dangerous terrorist, lone wolf officer Hammond (Michael Jai White) runs off from his group (and the horrible, feather-strewn-for-no-reason, slow motion shootout they’ve gotten themselves involved in) in pursuit of the suspect. The bad guy gets the drop on our hero, but Hammond’s ham is saved at the last second thanks to the LAPD’s newest addition: Android Cop!

    I’m sorry, I feel that exclamation point is really mis-representative of my feelings on the titular character. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. I’m in no way excited about Android Cop, nor am I shedding anything even remotely implied as a positive light upon him. Android Cop is, as his name states, a robot who looks like a man and fights crime. But, since this is an Asylum production, that just means he’s a dime store Val Kilmer knock-off clone (or as he’s known in the credits, “Randy Wayne”) doing a bad Data impression and decked out in some repainted Stormtrooper cosplay outfit over a black mock turtleneck, and makes those generic whirring servo sound effects every time he takes a step. And occasionally he wears a big dumb helmet with a plastic bubble face-shield. How dumb? Oh, you’ll see. Shit like this is why I insist on including screenshots with my reviews. But, that’s for dessert, children. First, finish your creamed okra and Pickled Fish Lip Surprise. I slaved over an open flame all day making this slop… it melted my laptop, so you better appreciate it.

    It turns out that Advanced Autonomous Artificial Intelligence Neural-net Law Enforcement Droid I-1 (as my first girlfriend used to say, “That’s a MOUTHFUL!”) is Hammond’s new partner. Their team-up is a field test to see if androids, whom have basically been relegated to house servants and sex toys until now, will work as police officers. Despite his obvious prejudices against working with a “skin job”, Hammy bestows the whimsical nickname of “Andy” to his tin can lawman, but mostly because the acronym A.A.A.I.N.L.E.D.I-1 doesn’t lend itself to any good names of its own like M.O.D.O.K. or M.A.N.T.I.S. or Robo-C.H.I.C. Engineers of the future are uncreative as fuck. Don’t they know you’re supposed to make the cool acronym first then figure out the actual words after?! Isn’t that one of the prerequisite classes to get your Engineering degree? I mean, it never worked for us at H.O.P.E.L.E.S.S., but we were a bunch of stoned high school kids, and you don’t need a Master’s to do bong hits and watch shitty movies… though I’m pretty sure an Associates in Liberal Arts wouldn’t hurt… my point is, engineers – DO YOUR JOB!

    After the new odd couple (Simon & Simulacra? Jake and the Bot Man? MicroCHiPs?) talks a guy out of killing himself in an overly long scene that’s only there to show us that Andy can hack cell phones, the duo are assigned to a case that takes them back into The Zone… for a place that’s supposed to be lawless, this is the second time the LAPD’s been sent into it in as many days. Helen Jacobs (Larissa Vereza), the daughter of L.A.’s Mayor Jacobs (Charles S. Dutton), has gone missing in the fallout area and it’s up to our shield bearing heroes to find her and bring her back, safe and sound. There’s actually a LOT more to the mission, including two different conspiracies (one about wiping out The Zone’s criminal base, the other regarding a higher brow realty scheme, and both involving Kadeem “Dwayne Wayne” Hardison), a whole plot point about Helen being in cahoots with a faction of revolutionaries, some complicated crud revolving around more androids, and a full-on Shyamalan (“What a TWIST!”) that forgets surprise endings are supposed to come at the end and NOT at the 65 minute mark! The sad part? Mark Atkins probably considered having the big plot twist reveal 30 minutes early is the big plot twist.

    You know what Mark should’ve considered? The palpable disappointment of every woman whose partner’s premature ejaculation has ruined their night, of which I’m sure Mr. Atkins has had a few. Remember the pain of being asked “Is that it!?” by the dissatisfied lady beneath you, as your already softened dong slipped out, smearing spilled seed against her leg as you pleaded “This NEVER happens to me!” and begged her to stay the night, knowing full well she’d be dressed and out the door in mere moments, spreading the tales of your “twelve second hero” prowess to all of her friends the next day while you considered playing roadkill under the tires of the nearest bus? Why would you do this to us, Mark? Why would you do it to yourself? Oh well, this is (for the hundredth time) an Asylum flick after all. If there were such a thing as transparency in the movie industry, the title for this 90 minute headache would be Hemorrhoid Cop…which is a butt joke, not a poop joke, so keep your challenge card in your pants.

    In my Abraham Lincoln Vs. Zombies review, I noted the almost obscene amount of extras that Asylum had hired to play zombies and soldiers. It probably helps that the closest thing they had to a known actor in the entire thing was Daytime Emmy Award winner Bill Oberst Jr., and the effects budget was restricted to zombie makeup and digital splatter. Android Cop went for bigger names from the Hollywood unemployment line, and their effects budget required that goofy CG VTOL chopper (more on that in a minute) and all the odd, needless lens flare effects, so when they promise us “all of the most dangerous gangs in the west coast” they should’ve been more honest and said “a dozen or so guys with their faces obscured so you won’t realize we’ve used them once or twice in the movie already”. The way it’s done, it feels like they shot the sequence explaining the gang war battle royale before they realized they couldn’t afford it, then realized they couldn’t afford to go back and re-shoot it. They may have forgotten to go back and just edit it out, but that feels like I’m giving them way more credit and not nearly enough scorn in their scornhole. Safe money’s on everyone involved being too focused on getting this garbage over and done with as soon as possible so they wouldn’t miss happy hour at the nearest Applebee’s. Speaking of, I’m pretty sure they paid Kadeem Hardison in Applebee’s gift cards for his work here, because his waistline looks to have been the testing site of numerous Cowboy Burger Bombs since we saw him getting tempted into deffness opposite Samuel L. Jackson. I hear the folks at Asylum tried to get Jasmine Guy for a role in Android Cop, to do a kind of “A Different World” non-reunion reunion the way Kevin Smith had both Mark Hamill and Carrie Fisher in Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back. Miss Guy’s apparently got an exclusive contract for “The Vampire Diaries” though and couldn’t do it… nor would I imagine she’d want to, barring some kind of blackmail scheme or yakuza honor debt. I hear The CW pays in Ruby Tuesday gift cards too, so Asylum can’t really compete with that. Oh well, our “A Different World” fanfic will have to tide us all over a little longer…

    Tearing down every aspect of this digital abortion would only waste precious hours of our lives, so I’ll focus the remainder of my loathing into a concentrated laser beam of death and fire on my personal ground zero – the only piece of technology the police force of the future has that can be construed as futuristic (aside from their tin man in the $60 full body plastic armor) is their Vertical Take-Off and Landing (VTOL) helicopter. My problem isn’t with the fact that the VTOL’s 100% computer generated. It shows a complete lack of creativity, but it is financially viable, and it at least looks better than something out of “Transformers: Beast Wars”. My problem (and remember, this is the big stupid construct upon which I am crucifying this movie), is that the inside of this chopper is decidedly NOT digital. For the scenes with our boys-in-blue inside of the ride, a physical set was used, and the higher ranking officers in tow sit in… wheeled office chairs… inside of a high speed aircraft… office chairs with wheels… inside of a very fast moving helicopter. Think about that. Just for a moment. If you don’t see what’s wrong with that, think about it a little longer. Think about it until you do realize what the problem is, then STOP thinking about it. Because if you think about it for even a moment longer, fissures will open up in your brain. Lovecraftian horrors will claw their way free from your deepest fears through these fissures. They will rend your very mind before, finally, vomiting a thick sludge of pure madness all over it. An eclipse of insanity from which the glow of reason will never again emerge… not unlike becoming a Scientologist. All because some assholes threw some wheeled office chairs onto a gods damned helicopter set and thought: “Fuck it. Good enough”.

    A few years ago, I teamed with former Tomb collaborator and current Cinemasochist Apocalypse head honcho Brother Ragnarok to double penetrate another Robocop knock-off called Robo-Vampire. It’s this scrod-awful Hong Kong movie from infamous director Godfrey Ho…well, unknown director to most, but infamous as fuck to those of us who have been blighted by the knowledge of his nefarious cinematic violations of the human good. I hate-fucked RV (not the Robin Williams movie, though I’m sure I’d hate that just as much), while Rags popped a blue steel boner the likes of which even Wilford Brimley’s cat couldn’t scratch (holy Hellraiser, Cocoon was WEIRD). There’s something to be said about a movie whose cyborg protagonist’s stunt double is a big, empty, humanoid suit of tin foil, and that something is “sweet zombie Buddha, I need a Vicodin and Bushmill smoothie to get rid of the headache that Robo-Vampire curb-stomped me with”. There’s something else I can say about it now too – “I’d rather watch Robo-Vampire every day for a week than sit through Android Cop one more time”.

    In the last few episodes, The Asylum’s dragged me through new levels of movie damnation than I once thought possible, if by no other reason than the sheer volume of garbage they pollute the market with. I never thought I’d look back on the lowest days of Full Moon with fondness, but I’ve been proven wrong. Asylum’s not like Roger Corman, giving stars-to-be like Jack Nicholson or Clint Eastwood reels to get their foot in the door for movies that would lead to legendary careers entertaining others. No, The Asylum’s just a place that gives awful roles to pop culture punchlines who were better left to disappear into the arctic waters of obscurity with their sad, dying eyes like a group of Hollywood Jack Dawsons. If someone like Jeff “Night of the Living Dead 3D” Broadstreet is that guy dumping the occasional barrel of used motor oil into the sewer via the piss drain in his garage floor, then Asylum is a fracking operation poisoning the surrounding land for miles and turning all nearby water supplies into napalm. Sure, they give people jobs, but the damage they do with their productions is tragic and often irreversible.

    Speaking of burning fluids, I’ve got a date with Hel tonight and have an appointment for a manicure (my humpin’ socks are at the dry cleaner’s) and a flea dip in preparation, so I gotta bring this episode to a close. I bid you all adieu and, since I made it the whole review without a single poop joke, I bid you all a doo-doo too…number two! 😛

    Moral of the Story: Wheeled office chairs… on a high speed helicopter… MY BRAIN!

    Screenshots_____

    Wow, pick-up truck technology of “the future” is light years ahead of our own! So many great advances in “the future”… the… future…


    In the future, terrorists apparently carry their terrorism tools in briefcases? Oh shit, that means… hipster terrorists are probably doing that very thing NOW before it becomes popular! Someone get Homeland Security to Brooklyn!


    National Enquirer exclusive: Madonna captured on film… without makeup!


    What’s with all the damn feathers?! Did this gunfight take place on a chicken farm combination land mine testing ground!?


    As promised, our hero and his big suppository helmet. Appropriate since he spends most of the movie with his head up his ass. Strap a pair of wings on either side and he looks like the ship from Fantasy Zone!


    At all times he has the looks of a man who’s been hit with a fish. Also, I didn’t know androids looked so “moist”. Blart.


    “Hey, Chief? When do you think the LAPD will be able to get real offices? Operating out of this abandoned warehouse seems a little ‘unprofessional’.”


    A teaser pic from the unauthorized House of 1,000 Corpses prequel, Otis Firefly: Birth of an American Nightmare.


    “This is how we do LARPin’ on the West Side, motherfucker!”


    Sony regrets the nonrefundable 2 million dollar product placement payment given to The Asylum to promote their newest Kill Zone game for the PlayStation 4. A spokesman said “We misunderstood them when they told us on the phone that they were making ‘the new robot cop movie’…”


    This reminds me of that fever dream I had after I ate all those funny colored mushrooms and watched that stupid Charlie’s Angels movie.


    Fall asleep during the Hershey’s factory tour and they give you the dreaded “Reese’s Makeover” – half a face of peanut butter and a peanut butter cup monocle.


    Promotional image from The Denton Community Budget Theater “Spring Flings” production of “Road Warrior: the Musical”.


    I generally don’t judge people on looks, man or woman, but… that’s a nose you gotta learn to love… with a six week course and a very thick textbook.


    The LAPD: truly on the ever expanding cusp of technology, what with their high-tech air transport vehicles, decked out with… fluorescent lights… and wooden benches… and wheeled… office… chairs….. MY BRAIN AGAIN!


    Holy shit! When did Dwayne Wayne eat Carl Winslow and assume his form?! He’s been Majin Buu this whole time!


    Three screens?! This guy’s the most intense Spider Solitaire player EVER! And his chair is made from advanced aerospace technology! He must have a cousin who works at Lockheed or something!


    Squelching a cheek squeaker, or miming his consumption of the world’s biggest cheeseburger? Only his undertaker knows for sure.

    Anubis will return next time in
    “I’d Buy THAT for a Dollar!”

    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.

    Bill “Krampus the Christmas Devil” Oberst Jr. , Jason “Gut” Vail , Baby “Just Go 4 It” Norman