Thursday, December 22, 2022

Bad Karma (1991)

 


I couldn't resist. I just couldn't resist this one. I found out about Bad Karma from 1991 through Brennan Dortch on Instagram after he had posted a random clip showcasing the insanity to come from the very beginning of this monstrosity, and he told me "it should be on Youtube, my dude." And he wasn't lying. I found it right away as if it was waiting for me right around the corner just like the Hare Krishna's do in this film. I'm not going to mince words here, zits and zombies-this thirty five minute piece can and will mutate your well being into something you never thought possible. Just describing Bad Karma as otherworldly or bat-shit nuttery is putting it lightly. I actually don't really think I have any solid words to blacksmith here that could even remotely let you know what you go through with this one-I almost don't think I could do it justice. I don't think I can do it any justice, but I'm going to try. If you're into films that devolve the very existence of human kind, like Things, Sledgehammer, Boardinghouse and any other various slime covered slabs of contained mental illness from this time period of shot on video, then I believe you may have found the king in Bad Karma. For Satan's sake there's a chainsaw named "Buttsaw" that makes an appearance and it lives up to it's name by sawing both legs off of one of the religious mooks that are terrorizing all of the main innocent people here, and it even goes up his butt and completely obliterates the expectation that it might not do so. But it does. Oh, but it does. Towards the end when all hell breaks loose and it's the Hare Krishna's battling it out with Anthony and all of his sex workers, an inbred family just randomly shows up out of nowhere to add to the confusing mess of rambunctious gore, rows of demon teeth and rotten sound effects that have already set a blitzkrieg on what precious brain cells you had left before you decided to electrify your life with such an out of this galaxy gore-fest.


An old British woman is cooking food inside of her house when a few random Hare Krishna's come-a-knocking to waste her time about their beliefs. Her son and a bunch of friends are having a cookout in the backyard, and right when the burgers start blazing on the grill, that's when this film throws your brain on there along with them. The one with glasses has gigantic Wolverine-style claws pop right out of one of his hands and just pummels the woman in the stomach with tons of washed out screams, cranberry juice level blood and pulsating flesh on the side of his face. Maybe that would be a church I could make a donation to. I have to mention the music in certain spots here because at times it's abysmally grotesque, vile and sounds like someone became obsessed with lifting and moving the needle constantly on a record as it spins on a vinyl player. Very little makes any sense here in terms of how people are killed and why and the sound design (or lack there of) is somehow perfect despite it's non-sensical nature. Now that I think about it, everything here is perfect despite it's non-sensical nature. Now I can finally breathe. I hope that this was good enough for Bad Karma. I don't need any for myself. I've had enough.


These four people should get bad karma just because of their outfits.


Shut up you old British witch and just answer the door.


This is some of the hippest 90's music I've ever heard.


Yeah, make a donation-in blood!


"Hey Dave, make mine a killer zombie!" There's a beer called killer zombie?


You literally just drank something, how the hell are you parched?


When did Hare Krishna's become so joyfully brutal?


Anthony runs an S&M spanking house. This can only get better.


"Master, I can't wear these clothes again! They make me itch like a bastard!"


Well, that chainsaw is called "Buttsaw" for a reason.


Death by desk fan!


I think my new superhero now is Mr. Whippy.


Pure... fucking... lunacy!!


"What about my girlfriend?" "I killed her first-then fucked her brains out!"


I've got nothing left, zits and zombies. Bad Karma has officially tossed my soul into the microwave and slapped the timer on high for five minutes. I truly feel irradiated after ingesting such a psychotic beast of hilarious intestines, monsters that have no explanation and audio sawblades that have shredded my pansy mortal inner-ears to the point of just wanting to go to bed for the rest of the day. And it's only four in the evening. I can't sleep for thirteen hours-that's just crazy. What's also crazy is that I watched Bad Karma. It's only thirty five minutes, but it honestly felt like fifteen. When it started it was already over and I was just left on the floor as a mangled pile of skin, bones and hot disease. This film is dangerous and goes beyond anything you may have experienced while high on shrooms or acid. As a matter of fact, the next time I watch this I should give that a try. Maybe there's a sequel hidden in there somewhere. There's only one way to find out.    

Saturday, December 17, 2022

Book update #1


 

Hey, yo, woah zits and zombies-I just wanted to throw an update in your undead way for where I'm at with the Cinema Slayer book! I currently have 15 movies left on my list before I can start ripping my old reviews off of here and convert them into pages for this almighty omnibus of blood, guts and gore. And boobs. And Michelle Bauer wielding a chainsaw. As a hooker. She's always been my favorite 80's scream queen next to Linnea Quigley and probably Barbara Crampton. Or maybe Brinke Stevens. Hell, I love all of them.


I am going to take a break this morning as I am writing this to recharge a little bit so I can start re-watching what's left on my list tomorrow morning when I get my creaky ass out of bed. I'm almost forty now-I can't believe it. Why does everything have to hurt? At least it doesn't hurt when I make a tent in my pants.


That will be the pits when that starts to happen.


Anyway zits and zombies, hope your Christmas season so far has been delightful and full of Santa's ho-ho-ho-ing, riding his sleigh and stabbing people. Christmas colors are red and green, you know? Blood and vomit? God I wish I made it as a writer for my career. Then I could keep the pain inside even longer until I leave it all on the page. Or in the toilet. Which ever comes first. I'll stop now.