Weenie Roast Massacre

 

Many years ago before I even started Cinema Slayer, I attempted to watch Weenie Roast Massacre on an app on the Roku titled Crackle. It didn't go so well and I made it through the first five minutes right about the time when Marty tries to catch a pass for a football team scout that results in him missing the ball completely and hits his head on the side of the propane grill where wieners and burgers are being cooked. I promptly shut this piece of filth off and did something else. I don't remember what that something else was, but it had nothing to do with another movie or anything relevant. I probably just went to bed at that point. Many, many years have passed since that particular night (I honestly think it was a solid decade ago now) and I completely forgot that Weenie Roast Massacre even existed until recently. I was looking for some cancer to absorb on Tubi one night before going to bed, and there it was-this film was promptly staring me in the face in the horror section that they have setup at the moment, and I added it on my list right away to give it a possible second chance so I could actually write something on here for it. I should have just buried the idea. Weenie Roast Massacre fucking sucks. If you enjoy aerial shit-shows such as Camp Blood 4, Curse on Blanchard Hill, Blown or Greetings, then you'll fucking love this. Now that I've sat through this entire romp of excruciatingly boring medical malpractice, there is no way in hell that it's not ending up on my worst list for the year. My wife and I had Sonic for lunch yesterday and the brain freeze that I experienced from the slushy I purchased didn't even hurt as much as sitting through this bacterially infected sinus drainage. You know, I personally realized a long time ago that I have the stomach, the will, and the mental fortitude to be able to make it to the final credit roll of these kinds of psychological acts of violence, and by now I feel like I'm almost indestructible at this point in regards to swimming to the bottom of the barrel. The water pressure has little to no effect on me, and I still haven't quite figured out if this is wholly a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, if you're reading this, partake in the festivities here at your own risk. The meds you have to take beforehand may not help you.

Marty is the weirdest and most awkward star football player I've ever seen because 99% of the time, young football players that are in high school and college are arrogant, self-absorbed assholes that think they're better than everyone because of said activities. In reality, they're sad sacks of dogshit that enjoy wearing tights and chasing a ball laced up with pieces of pigskin. He, on the other hand, is weird around girls, doesn't want to be in social situations and somehow doubles as the best of whatever the fuck position he plays (I don't watch sports) on his team and is being scouted to be on some college team or pro team or whatever. It doesn't matter here because the only thing I was looking for was the possibility of cute topless girls and an actual full blown massacre during a weenie roast. Well, my weenie was roasted alright because the "massacre" doesn't really start until there's probably about fifteen or twenty minutes left of this mud-pit drag course and you really have to trudge and wade through the banality of this entry to get to the good stuff. And unfortunately, when you finally do, the good stuff isn't even that great. There's one really cool kill that has a lot of gore and the rest is just half-assed, off screen bullshit that anyone with working and/or colorblind eyes could see from fourteen miles away. All the way back in the first act could you see this shit happen, and I wasn't surprised one bit. Not at all. There's also a bunch of side gristle here that just pads the fat on like some depressed fat chick that can't stop fucking eating like some loser that plays a 12 string acoustic who writes some of the lamest songs ever, which in turn nets him to steal one of the other football players' girlfriends... I don't know. And the news reporter that's in here is some annoying bloated guy in a suit that talks heavily from the back of his throat and nose cavity and wears a clip-on tie. Such high production values were employed here. 

Nice use of ketchup as blood.

Wow, what a boring, lame and shitty weenie roast.

Being a bookworm is so much more fulfilling than being a jock.

Ice cold beer while you're driving? It'll be some ice cold times when you get a DUI as well.

You're going away to college? Boo-hoo. Marty will find a better chick somewhere else anyway. I would.

Natural Ice-you may as well be drinking piss in a can.

"Fucker!" "I think I will!!"

Jason's a loser and his girlfriend is a four at best. I'd be ready to get tanked as well.

Sweet, someone got ripped in half. Finally, something may or may not happen in this damn movie.

Ooh, a scary transition shot of a lake.

Yay, two guys with zero character development just got stabbed.

So, your coach is dead and you're going to keep going with the shit weekend activities anyway. You even go so far as to say "fuck him" to one of your teammates. What a great guy.

"I'll order some food-which would you prefer? Cheese sticks or poppers? Hold that thought-I need to poop on it."

Zits and zombies, Weenie Roast Massacre is such a massive waste of your time and energy. Having an actual weenie roast in your backyard with family and friends would be a great time as you would be surrounded by people you actually like and care about versus a bunch of clowns on a sports team that only give a shit about the glory of that, drinking and hanging out with some of the ugliest chicks I've seen in one of these kinds of flicks in quite awhile. There's usually one that sort of makes me pay attention to them looks-wise during the duration of a fecal-flinging offering, but here there's nothing of quality. At all. Weenie Roast Massacre is seriously one where nothing matters-the main character doesn't matter, the girls don't matter, the secondary characters don't matter and the sfx don't matter. If there was music or a score, I barely remember any of it and it probably was trash. Hey Marty, your dad looks like Mario went on a bender with Luigi for a whole year and then decided to come home after his hair turned grey to piss off you and your sister and your mom because he wants to finally start acting like a real dad. Instead of Weenie Roast Massacre, I want to change the name of this to Face First Massacre so when I put my face on the grill at the beginning of this gorilla pile, it will be over before it even begins. To save you all. See, I'm a selfless person-I just need to be more creative and put the work in.                                                                                                                                                                                                   

The Prowler (blu-ray)

 

Alongside body horror and shitty SOV flicks, I'd have to say my other favorite stand-out genre would have to be slashers. There is an insane amount of them to go around and I'm willing to bet that you'd have to live multiple lifetimes to be able to sit through all of them. Unless you just sell your soul and dedicate all of your extra time to that one specific type, you'll never make it through every last one of them, and there's some that should just be left in the deserted dunes of forgetfulness. This is absolutely not the case with The Prowler. This is a slasher that really tries to do something unique and different with what it has to work with, and I believe that this has become a champion of the stalk and slash ilk. The special effects and gore here were handled by the now legendary Tom Savini, and the tone and punctuation is fierce. I think that if the red stuff was slopped together by anyone else but him, this would have been a completely different lump of clay that would have eventually hardened into a petrified rock of sadness and shit. But his work here is top notch per usual and only seeks to elevate this beyond the tension filled hide-a-thon that it is. There are a good amount of scenes where one of the girls or the cop Mark are trying to figure out where this fatigue wearing bastard is, stabbing people and ruining their lives in which the score drops out and leaves the viewer to their nerves and senses to reap the benefit of what's happening on screen. Also, I have to mention this (even though it's in my notes too) is that I want to know where this was bought at and what type it is-but the water heater in Pam and Sherry's dorm seems to have an infinite supply of hot water. Steam is billowing out of that bathroom while Sherry is showering, while her dumb boyfriend is there messing with her before he gets stabbed through the top of the head and is still accumulating the next morning after everything happens when Pam discovers both of them dead in the shower. And the water has still been running this whole time. Like, what the hell? I guess they really don't make quality of anything anymore like they used to. Especially water heaters.

After WWII while our men were sailing back into the docks to reconnect with their girlfriends, wives and families, one was particularly effected by a John letter that was sent to him that in turn made him harbor some dark feelings and hate. A couple making it in a gazebo during the welcome home festivities was mutilated by a bayonet blade and a pitchfork. Thirty something years later, some of the same killings start happening again during a college graduation dance and there is the typical free-spirit activities of getting slammed with booze and nudity. Of course, why would I say no to any of that-those are all staples of solid slasher flicks and The Prowler is no different. But what makes this one different is the fact that the killer stands out with the whole military-camo outfit going on (that even covers his whole head and face) and the scenes I mentioned earlier that have very great layers of tension and intensity. Most slashers have that too to push the pace along, but The Prowler is so strong with it that you get sucked into it without even noticing and then once the camo killer raises his hand to slice or stab someone, it's already to late for you to even react to it besides sitting there with your pants all moist with sweat and urine. It's the perfect combination alongside some junk food to make this a midnight viewing after the spouse and kids start resting their pretty little heads because I'm sure they aren't going to want to see people getting blasted with 12 gauges or Lisa getting her neck slit in an inground pool. He's hiding in plain sight... because he's covered in camo. 

What the greatest generation did for us. Holy shit.

When a woman says they "want to be friends", it's over.

There's nothing wrong with sleeping on an old mattress in the basement.

For somebody, the war still isn't over.

Is it just me or or does this Mark guy's head seem so big that he looks like a bobblehead?

Otto looks like a simpleton version of Randy Quaid.

Hey Lisa, forget the nail polish-how's about you take that robe off instead?

That scene transition gives a whole new meaning to "let me cut your cake with my knife".

Mark really looks like a bobblehead dancing with Lisa.

Water heater level-infinite.

Here's your favorite WWII vet... The Prowler!

So there's an 80's version of Justin Long? That's pretty great!

What kind of people party in a basement? Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers, perhaps?

 Zits and zombies, The Prowler is a top tier slasher film. You can't beat the tension and atmosphere that this pick provides, and this was my second viewing of it which made it even more enjoyable. There are some movies where they get better with every subsequent view, and I believe that The Prowler is one of them. The kills are grade-A, the backstory for why this guy is dressing the way he is and why he is doing what he is doing is definitely different compared to what most of these other kinds of entries contain. I can't think of many (or any) slashers at all where it involves a disgruntled war vet that went a little to nuts with his anger, PTSD and situation with his girl sending him a John letter saying that she wants to move on because she doesn't know if or when he's ever coming home. So out of those feelings with probably some jealousy sprinkled on top, he decides to stab and murder the college kids of the town he resided in after the war was over because if he can't have a solid relationship with his girl, no one else can have one either. Stab me in the shower with the really fucking hot water running and put a rose in my hand because The Prowler is more than a good one-it's a great one.   

Linnea Quigley's Horror Workout

 

When my brothers and I were growing up in the 80's and 90's, our mom was obsessed with those workout tapes of the time-Jane Fonda and Abs/Buns of Steel come to mind ferociously because those were in a constant loop, being ran by her in our VCR back then almost on a daily basis. The three of us would tease her about it all the time because we were kids and we just thought it was funny watching her do what the fitness people were doing on those said tapes. It's honestly kind of a bizarre memory that I never thought I would ever see any of those magnetic chunks ever again, and I have actually ran across the Buns of Steel and Abs of Steel tapes randomly quite a few times while thrifting for horror flicks and video games over the years. You would think that a horror or "scary" variation of such a thing would be cool to sit through, right? Have the top scream queen of the day lead an aerobics instruction for you to stretch and do the splits in your own living room so you can stay ultimately limber and firm in your body to combat being a lazy, fat slob while doing a Thriller-esque cardio dance with a bunch of random zombies by the side of an inground pool? Sounds like and awesome time, doesn't it? I really hate to say it, but it's not. Linnea Quigley's Horror Workout is a fucking stinker that any horror hound should avoid, even if you're on the lookout for rarities or curiosities from the late 80's and early 90's. I really like the idea of fear factored into a solid, blood pumping fitness regime hosted by a high class, well known scream queen from the 80's, but this was just put together for the novelty of it and to sell more stuff that starred Linnea in it. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that, I just think that the execution was phenomenally terrible and sometimes being cheesy can go a little to far, and this is a prime example of that.

This piece starts off with Linnea rambling on for awhile about things that have happened to her in some of her movies (mostly Creepozoids and Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-A-Rama) which is hastily bookended by her starting to do some full body stretches as she's locked into the splits in the middle of the floor on some putrid orange carpeting. I have to say this because it's overbearing to me as a music nerd, but the music that was put together for this made me pray for my ears to suddenly quit working. The same keyboard melodies layered on top of the same percussion and treble lines over and over and over and over again will not stop playing as she is performing these stretches, and I literally almost lost it. I did end up turning the volume down because of this maddening display of audio torture (hell, I should have just muted it) because I think I would have eventually wanted to pull a Butthole Surfers and just shove pencils in my ears to stop the insanity. Linnea unfortunately goes on for quite awhile doing this until she decides to change clothes and goes for a random jog by a cemetery which is the cue for the dead to rise and to follow her to an inground pool that is just there for whatever reason. She insults all of them by pointing out how flabby and out of shape they are from laying in their graves for so long, and then they start dancing. More awful 80's synth music accompanies this and I was really hoping something stupid would happen like a zombie falling into the water or maybe one pushes Linnea into the water or something-anything-to break the weak flow of this thing to get the end already. There is a big lie to indulge in before the credits start-they promote the fact that they were going to do some kind of horror cooking film-thing or something that was never released with Linnea in a sexy apron putting a severed hand into a boiling pot of water. That honestly would have been a lot more fun.

Linnea is in the shower in pretty much every movie she's ever been in.

Eddie from Iron Maiden?

Aww, but giant mutant rats are fun.

Nothing wrong with a cat fight involving two hot blondes in short skirts.

Gotta stay in shape with a "nice, long, hard workout".

I'm going to be honest-I didn't think this was going to actually be a workout video.

Linnea sure is limber, isn't she?

I can stretch any muscle I want, Ms. Quigley.

The zombies want to go for a solid jog too!

Man, this is like the aerobics version of Thriller!

 I wonder if anyone actually worked out along with this tape back in the 90's?

Damn, I was really thinking that this slumber party was going to have Michelle Bauer in her underwear-or at all. 

Zits and zombies, Linnea Quigley's Horror Workout is a product of it's time. It has no relevance now what-so-ever, and should be taken as a curiosity piece because the novelty of this entry is pretty heavy handed. There is no way in hell something like this would be made today, and that's the only importance I can see of something like this being preserved for future time and space. To remind us of how lame sexual innuendos can be and about how this was a massive missed opportunity to have Brinke Stevens and Michelle Bauer in their nighties, prancing around at a slumber party, only to have Linnea stab them in the back or the throat with a giant machete. The girls that were in the slumber party were okay and nothing to really brag about (except for maybe Dee Dee) but beyond being novelly curious about what the horror or zombie version of a workout tape from 1990 would be like starring the top fear girl from the 80's, there's no real reason to even bother with this one. I'll just go watch Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-A-Rama again for the thousandth time-Michelle Bauer and Brinke Stevens are both nude in that one. Good fucking times. 

Deadly Dreams

 

Deadly Dreams is both deadly and dreamy because there are some beautiful things about it such as the fact that you get to see Juliette Cummins' boobs twice and there are some random, nice guns here and there through out. It gets dreamy though (fever-dreamy) because Alex has dreams and nightmares, dreams in dreams, dreams about dreams and dreams that lead to other dreams that seem real but aren't, and real happenings that seem like dreams-but they are-and then they turn out to be real. Jesus, this shit is exhausting. I don't know how this was accomplished, but by the end of this flick you really do have a solid resolve about Alex, his brother, Maggie and Danny and it all gets tied up quite nicely with a dark ending that you could see from miles away-and it doesn't detract from the impact or fulfillment. This is one helluva twisted setup with things spring-boarding off of Christmas Eve when some guy named Perkins randomly shows up at the Torme home while Alex's father is yelling at someone about a business deal over the phone, and proceeds to shoot both of his parents with a twelve gauge. Then Alex gets chased through the woods behind the house, only to have the wolf-masked hunter pointing his rifle at the side of his head and blows his mental state right into him waking up from these events presenting themselves as a dream. Or a nightmare. Which ever one you think it is. In the context of Deadly Dreams, they are both one and the same. The tone and presentation of this film made me feel like I needed to possibly see a professional because of all the nutty back and forth this thing puts you through, but like I said before, in the end, everything gets tied up real nice like and you get answers to your questions. Although, there are two that still didn't have a resolve-where was Jack at the beginning of the movie when their parent's were shot by Perkins and who actually is the dude wearing the wolf mask? Did I miss something? Were those things a part of Alex's dreamland too or did I tank really hard like Danny does during the course of this ride? I'm not entirely sure.

  It was honestly really cool to see Juliette Cummins in something else besides Slumber Party Massacre II because that's the only thing I've ever seen her in and every time I watch that one, I always have a thing for her. And the guitar player in the band. They're both hot. Anyways, her character of Maggie here starts off seeming to be a pretty honest and upfront girl about what she wants and who she is-until you find out she's not. I won't spoil it here, but on your first watch of Deadly Dreams, you might not pick it up right away, but her motives for everything are twisted and you can't help but wanting to stay away from her poisonous ass once things are revealed. Alex's brother is a controlling dick-wad as well and is constantly making fun of him for being a writer instead of just investing his inheritance money back into the family business so he can be a stiff loser like him in a suit and an ugly yellow power tie. They even actually discuss this in the film as biological brothers, and I wouldn't want to wear a suit and an ugly yellow power tie either. Fuck being a corporate monkey. Especially if you end up having dreams about a slaughtered deer in the bathtub with your name written in blood on the wall right above it. Y'all need Jesus. And some scotch. Or brandy.

Is this a Christmas horror flick in disguise?

What an awesome gun cabinet.

A joint always helps with shitty dreams. So does going on the computer and writing for awhile.

Were you really about to hit an intruder with a tiny, plastic, handheld clock?

He's right-you can't bullshit a bullshitter.

Being a writer is always a viable option. Don't be a fucking clown.

Alex hasn't been laid in the last ten years and he's 21. Wow.

She is pretty-and she's one of the girls from Slumber Party Massacre II.

Man, you sure do have a lot to write about.

"I jinx you, pig-bitch!"

Okay, Maggie got you a mounted deer head as an early birthday gift. Now let's get naked!

You know Alex, you could use all of these weird-ass dreams to write a book.

Pointing a rifle at a dude having dreams about a guy in a wolf mask hunting him down with a rifle as well is a real swell idea.

Now I'm wondering if Alex is doing all of this shit or is it really Perkins?

After you wake up from your nap zits and zombies, Deadly Dreams is dream-like insanity contained into an 80 minute avalanche of wolf masks, hunting rifles, rich assholes, Juliette Cummins' boobs and nightmares in dreams and dreams in nightmares. When everything starts piling up until the third act, it turns into a labyrinth of "is this real or a dream?" and you honestly don't know until the final minutes that reveal everything to you. I really recommend this flick and to be honest, going into it while I was writing stuff down for it, I thought I was going to hate it. But now that I've been hunted and shot down myself by some guy in hunting gear and a wolf mask, chances are I'm going to watch this again in the near future. Only this time, I'll be more prepared. Come at me, Jack. I'll wear your shitty yellow power tie only to rip it off right in your face and call you a jackass. Because you're a greedy loser. 

Frankenstein (1931)

 

Nothing, and I do mean nothing can compare to the level of classic that the original Frankenstein picture from Universal Studios drudges up. Good old Frank has been my favorite monster from this line of colorless framework for as far back as I can possibly remember, and stay in that position he shall for the rest of my pathetic days-and I still have a lot of them left. I've always had a solid and unbreakable connection with Frankenstein's monster because he's the ultimate outcast-prodded and led to his ultimate demise because he was misunderstood and mistreated for not fitting in and looking like a deformed mess. Going against the grain is the name of the game when it comes to our favorite zipper neck, and that's where my personal plane of existence has always resided-on the outside looking in. When it rains it pours and when you feel like no one loves you or no one cares, Frank is always there to soften the blow and to make everything feel balanced and real again. I really love watching these older kinds of horror pieces from the golden age of horror cinema (I really just love the black and white stock that was used during this time period) and even to this day almost 100 years later, the original Frankenstein flick is a damned masterpiece showing that playing God is always a terrible idea because once a man's body and brain are both dead, they need to stay that way. Nothing abby-normal here. But I like the energy, the psychoses, and the madness that Henry Frankenstein brings upon himself in this situation because he has to know what it feels like to be like God and he has to know if he actually can bring someone back to life-even after completely losing it and doing some sweet grave robbing to get the bodies and body parts he needs to finish his work. Only to have his own creation turn on him. Sounds kind of familiar, doesn't it? 

Things are all set in town for the Baron's son to get married, only to have him become obsessed with this experiment he has cooking to reanimate dead tissue. Or to bring back the dead. Whatever you want to call it. He started out with animals (just like a serial killer would) and graduated to trying to fry some dead human corpses via high voltage, to see if they would come back to life or to just keep rotting in the grave for all eternity. Sounds awesome, right? I mean, I'd be on board with it except I just wouldn't want to deal with Frank getting pissed and not understanding his emotional state, which leads him to wanting to rip everyone's head off in an attempt to make himself feel better and to eliminate the competition. That's the adrenaline and testosterone talking. Even after his nuts stopped working. At the end of all of this non-sense, I sympathize with him because of what he is-a being of the outer limits. No one understands him and they all just want to eradicate him because of how violent he could be, not even including how violent they could be too. A lynch mob seems hypocritical, especially when talking about my boy Frankenstein.

I have been warned that Frankenstein might horrify me.

For whom the bell tolls... time marches on.

Dr. Frankenstein and his pal Fritz are both ready to pounce.

What a couple of grave robbing sons of bitches.

Skeleton go bouncy-bouncy.

Don't be a jackass, Victor.

Henry Frankenstein is creating the most misunderstood monster. I am so proud.

Stop touching the man's experimental materials and just have a seat.

It's Alive!!

Man, Baron Von Frankenstein has a sweet pipe to take constant drags from.

Maybe there is another woman-I think her name might be Mary Jane.

Frankenstein's monster is a beautiful misfit.

I've always wanted a top hat and a monocle.

To the house of Frankenstein!

Young Frankenstein is getting married! Let's get trashed!!

Zits and zombies, by now if you proclaim yourself to be a down and dirty true horror fan and have never seen the original Frankenstein film, you need to re-think about yourself staking such high claims. This is a gold standard watermark for monster movies, let alone offerings in the fear department all together. Royalty in the highest regard when it comes to being a misfit part of society-and I don't think the crown gets any heavier. There's a lesson to be had here, and that's sometimes putting your nose in the wrong places at the wrong times could lead to catastrophic disasters. I know Frank didn't mean to do it, but when he accidentally drowned Maria-that was it. That was the final straw to be pulled from the stack that sent the entire town on a quest to burn down the windmill that he was hiding in out of his own fear of not really knowing what was going on or what he was doing. Frank was ultimately looking to love, to learn and to live again because Henry Frankenstein saw to it that he could. With some lightning. And some crazed science that worked somehow. Let me see if I could bring back a loved one myself after shouting It's Alive! at the top of my lungs after a terrible thunder storm. I guarantee it won't work. Alright Fritz, flip the switch. Everything is going to be alright.

Rad (Mondo blu-ray)

 

Rad is an exceptional cult flick, and I love it dearly because of it's nostalgia factor and it's positive message. I honestly only saw a part of this movie when I was at a friends house one time way back in junior high randomly on t.v. because it was one of those situations where we were flipping channels and to us at the time it looked stupid, so we kept hunting for something to watch. I never had any interest in anything even remotely to do with biking or BMX at all when I was growing up, and that served to me even more to not pay any attention to a film like Rad. This was one where I was intrigued by it many, many years later as I became older because of the whole "underdog story" element held within it's grasp, and even though I've never been particularly a massive 80's music fan, the soundtrack here is so killer-perfect that I would honestly grab it on vinyl if the chance arose. When you've got thunder in your heart and you see an opportunity to go ass sliding with the girl of your dreams, you know things are going your way. Mondo and Mill Creek did an excellent job restoring this on blu-ray, and I'm glad that I was able to get it this time because the first time it was put out on blu-ray and 4k was by Vinegar Syndrome, and I missed it by a mile because, once again, I had no interest in it. I kept seeing the cover art along with people talking online about how this was an amazing movie they used to watch from their childhood's and some energy for me started to build up for it. Then I decided I needed this in my collection when my favorite movie reviewer on YouTube-Cecil of Goodbadflicks-had done an episode about Rad way back in his early days. I revisited his video about it and then I knew I had to have it. Luckily somehow, Mondo got together with Mill Creek to do a second run of this with their own print on blu-ray in a steelbook, and I pre-ordered that shit immediately. I had no choice.

Cru Jones is your average dude in high school that's looking to get with a specific girl, just doing his thang-practicing his bike tricks and hanging out with his gang. He also works at a bakery/deli where his boss really looks like a slovenly version of Seth Rogan. Hell, Seth Rogan looks like a slovenly version of Seth Rogan if we're completely honest. Duke Best comes to town with his lackey's to promote the Helltrack which is the BMX competition where the winner gets $100,000 and a sweet, sweet red corvette. But, like all movies like this, Duke Best is a greedy douche-baggins of a businessman that wants nothing more than his own guy, Bart Taylor, to win this thing so he can keep the money and garner the glory. Cru Jones is going to kick Best's ass, especially on the very day of the Helltrack itself when Best and his dumb sidekick decide to keep changing the rules to screw him over. Cru and the entire town help him overcome the odds to put whatever dinky town they live in on the map, and he gets to make it with Lori Loughlin. Or ass sliding. Or both. It's to bad about that whole cheating to get her daughter into college thing happened-they could have been a great couple. Either way, he wanted an angel sent to him, and boy did he get that. The money, the girl, the car, his mom off of his back about the SAT's. When you have talent, no one cares about that. I know I wouldn't.

Fancy bikes, fancy tricks and fancy licks.

What a way to "break the ice".

"The porch, I told you a million times, the porch!"

Now I just want to play Paperboy on the NES.

No one cares about your college applications.

Everything has a political and corporation taint behind it. Nothing can have a pure stance.

Dr. Robotnik needs to learn some new motorcycle tactics.

I don't really want to know what "ass sliding" means.

Screw college-let him get into the Helltrack.

Is there ever a time when Cru isn't on his bike?

Aunt Becky is looking pretty saucy tonight.

The pressure is on, man-there's a ton of cute chicks in bikini's watching.

Cru said he was saving going ass sliding with someone special. That someone special is Lori Loughlin.

Gotta qualify for that Helltrack!

They've got thunder in their hearts!

Cru totally is being a goon.

It's just like a politician to "change the rules" at the most convenient time for themselves to benefit.

Zits and zombies, Rad is absolutely a top tier 80's flick. It comes down to the fact that it doesn't matter if you're interested in BMX or not because that's not what's producing the thunder in your heart. What is doing that is the fact that this mostly unknown kid from some mostly unknown town gets the chance to prove to himself and everyone else that he's the best and no one can stop him. Bart Taylor can't. The mayor can't. Duke Best can't. Nobody. And that's the most positive attitude you can have when grinding against an assclown like that that think's they're invincible. Arrogance makes men eventually falter, and Cru Jones has a heart of gold that is unmatched. Now, get on you bikes and ride! Bi-cycle, bi-cycle, bi-cycle... I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike. I want to ride it where I like! And I want that chance for the glory! Suck it up, Best! You're not the best anymore! Hulk Hogan, eat your heart out! 

Goobers!

 

I have watched plenty of Full Moon slosh over the years, but I've never bothered to delve into their sister label destined for children films-Moonbeam Entertainment. Yeah, the weirdo's behind Puppet Master, Demonic Toys, Killjoy and Dollman have a side studio dedicated to movies for kids, and I have to say-if Goobers! is any indication of how any of the other fare from that dark side of the moon is a result, I don't even think I would suggest parent's let their kids watch this crap. A guy like me sitting through shit like The Gingerdead Man and Bad Channels is one thing, but a kid sitting through Goobers! is entirely something else. I don't even know if I would let my daughter watch this if she asked me to-and it's not even because of the actual content-it's the quality. The absolute mind and genital numbing quality. What's in the film is perfectly fine for kids to be quite honest, it's just the tone here is sooooo damn awkward and even for me being close to forty years old, it was just putrid in a way that I almost can't describe. I guess the best way is the old adage of driving past a wreck on the highway and you know you shouldn't look, but you do anyway. I really couldn't believe what I was seeing and I'm pretty damn sure that if I had saw Goobers! when I was a kid, I would probably pretend for the rest of my life that it doesn't even exist. I don't quite get the parody title against The Goonies either because this film isn't a group of kids going on some epic adventure to follow a pirate's treasure map in hopes of becoming rich and famous-Goobers! is a goober of a film that deals with the fact that Tommy senses something strange about the monster/creature things that are on set with all of them while filming their show, and eventually figures out their some kind of bizarre aliens being hunted down by Groon and Queen Mara. And they live in some kind of box or... treasure chest. Fine. That's the only similarity. Nothing else is parallel.

This hunk of stinky cheese starts itself off by us watching an episode of Captain Mike's Mystery Monsters being filmed, and Tommy messing things up. He gets curious about the monsters themselves and tries to figure out if they're real or not, and what a fucking surprise, they are. Pretty much the whole film after this opening scene is Tommy trying to convince everyone that Blop, Squidgy and Esmerelda are actual beings from space or another world-and the oh-so-tired theme of no one believing him is right there, waiting to smother him in wasted time and shrugged shoulders. Not even his cute co-star Susie gives a good shit and even writes down her therapist's number for him to seek help. Man, even for some chick that's eleven (maybe twelve) years old, how much of a bitch can you possibly be? And I really wish that I could say that a lot (or even any) of the stupidity that takes place in this thing made me at least chuckle a little bit, but unfortunately for this offering, I truly don't think I laughed a single time. At anything. Not once. The puppets themselves didn't even make me crack in the slightest-I think I actually felt sorry for them this time around and wanted to donate some money or a bowl of soup to them individually just so they could make it through the production. Charles Band, if for some insane reason you stumble across this review and actually read it, never, ever make children's movies ever again. Just don't do it. Point that moonbeam in a different direction. Someone besides us needs the radiation and the moonlight a lot more.

Captain Mike, Squidgy, Blop and Esmerelda-what a cast.

 Your popcorn strings were eaten!

Let me guess-Tommy is going to start investigating something "magical" on the set, right?

"You know what happens to little kids that don't follow Captain Mike's rules? They get fired!!"

That looks like a treasure chest from Zelda: Breath of the Wild.

 Everyone needs privacy you little bastard.

Wow, what shitty drywall was used to build this backstage area? Tommy barely put any effort into carving a peeping hole into the changing room wall.

Holy shit, you wasted your whole life looking for a baseball card that's worth $120. What a damn loser.

Your therapists name is Dr. Weinstein? Good luck.

This Groon guy is basically the physical embodiment of Google and Wikipedia all wrapped into one.

Ha, Blop farted. 

Zits and zombies, Goobers! is just stupid. The overall tone here is unique to be honest, but it's also really awkward and to my amazement was pretty difficult to track anything down online about. Maybe Charles Band realized how downtrodden this film is after it was put out on dvd and tried to bury it. If that's what really happened, then I'd say good call. No one needs to see this. The only miniscule redeeming thing here is the woman that played Queen Mara is pretty sexy, but that's truly it with this piece and I hope Full Moon as a whole just never even bothers making children's content ever again. If you're craving a dive into that sector of garbage film making, just stick with some of their flagship stuffs like Puppet Master or maybe even Evil Bong. I'm more inclined to watch Blade slice some asshole's fingers off in an elevator than shitty alien kid muppets playing cards and smoking stogies with Captain Mike. Alright, time to go back into the secret magical treasure chest... forever. 

Video Murders

 

What we have here with Video Murders is a film that makes you believe that you're going on a sleazy ride. A dirty excursion full of female nudity, blood, asphyxiation and magnetic tape. Very, very small bits of all of those are present here, interjected with two extremely long winded chase scenes involving the main detective and our killer, David Lee Shepherd. He has the name of an 80's rock god to be perfectly honest with you, but he never even comes close to living up to such an upper crust that is so hard to reach. The very best parts of Video Murders are the title card, the psychology behind David Shepherd's character and that's about it. I truly wanted this flick to go much deeper than it does because I'm into all of that serial killer bull-snickety, but once you get through certain scenes contained here and you realize that David is a sad, broken mama's boy that turns to filming his female strangulations, you kind of don't give a shit. I personally wanted to grab him by the collar of his stupid white button-up shirt and start shaking him around while yelling "snap out of it man! There's plenty of other career paths out there besides owning a video company!" He also doesn't need to kidnap and kill random women to get his mother's attention either. But that's what happens when you lose it and you don't know what to do anymore. Suicide, murder, and recording your actions like R. Kelly did. Yeah, I mentioned that. At least David wasn't into little girls. And peeing on them.

The very first thing that happens in Video Murders is that David has a solid sit down in front of his boob tube with some chinese food. He peers at some blonde chick swinging her melons around on his t.v. screen for a few minutes, he sweats profusely, turns it off and decides to go to some bar for a drinky-drink. This random black hooker catches his cancerous eye, and he follows her in his crappy van, even after she gets on a motorcycle with some other random guy. She gives him the bird for no real reason, and then David all of a sudden is there to pick her up. After arriving at his shitty apartment (or hotel room-whatever it is) she pays him 300 smackeroons to "play some video games" and then he proceeds to choke her ass on camera. Now that I'm thinking about it, I guess this flick is sort of Maniac-light, except there's stuff being filmed and David sweats a lot. Basically after this, not much else happens. He goes and does the same thing a couple more times until he kidnaps the ridiculously naïve Melissa, whom he ends up considering to be his "girlfriend" at some point. He forces her to wear one of his mother's dresses, ties her to a bed post and films himself apologizing to his mom about being a loser and a serial killing piece of shit and then springboards into one of the longest chase scenes in film history. This shit feels like it's never going to end. And when the cops finally catch him, it was pretty much all for nothing. I'll leave it at that.

Chinese food is always a good way to start off a night of murder and pornography.

This dude is one sweaty mother.

She's got nice bewbs.

Holy shit, radio shack? Take me back, man!

He'll give you $100 because he's a simp from the 80's.

$300 to play video games? You better be buying a new console or something.

Your suspects name is David Shepherd? I thought it was Kyle Reese.

Laces out you little bastard.

What are you crying for-you're the one who enjoys killing women and video taping it.

The fuzz is gonna get'cha!

Oh, I think David Lee is a killer. He's a real good boy that sweats a lot and strangles women on film.

The Insatiables are the most 80's 80's band that the 80's have ever produced. From the 80's.

Hi-you're real sweaty. Mind if I sit down?

C'mon lady, you can't tell that you're eating a meal with a psycho?

Zits and zombies, I really wanted more from Video Murders. The potential is here for something really great, but it just falls flat unfortunately and really doesn't come close to providing what the audience wants from an entry like this. I'm not going to say this is a total waste because it isn't, it's just everything that takes place in the realm of David Lee Shepherd isn't very exciting. It would have fared a lot better if the film went to darker, more extreme places in certain scenes to punctuate just how fucked up of a guy he really is, but the way this flick stands is sort of a cartoonish reminder that cult film makers could do so much better. I could recommend Video Murders if you're a fan of the insanely boring SOV Spine or if you're just that curious that you have to watch it no matter what anyone tells you. Order some kung-pow chicken first. You'll need to pack as much of your own punch here to make it through.

Burglar From Hell

 

For me, Frank The Tank very quickly became an SOV fan favorite. I almost feel like there's nothing he can't do, and do it he shall. He pisses on a dead guy in broad daylight, his weiner falls off and barrels right out of the leg of his pants, which he shrugs off and keeps on killing-the man is an undead genius in my book. I still haven't quite figured out what's up with his face constantly melting or bloating and releasing-maybe it's because he's technically a zombie and that's part of what he has to go through to live his life that way, but as long as he can curse and spout some deliciously ridiculous one-liners that are both impactful and lame in the same context, I'm forever grateful. I'm not a huge pundant for sequels, but I kind of wish that there were a Burglar From Hell 2, because that would just mean more Frank The Tank, more losers like Jake getting stabbed in the stomach with a square shovel while he's on the toilet taking the worst shit of his life and more Debbie D showing her fantastic chest. Bookie had a golden opportunity to get a piece of that illustrious pie while he was trying to help Heather study for a major test coming up in school, and he ends up sweating profusely and just chickening out. Lame. Forget the damn school work man and get'cha dick rubbed, son. I will say on more of a sour note about Burglar From Hell though is that it kind of felt really fucking slow in some spots which drug this piece down a lot, but honestly, it wasn't anywhere being enough for me to become bored or to want to start counting sheep. The pace does wave and feels uneasy here and there, but the overall experience of sitting through Burglar From Hell really was a great time.  

An old woman is out in her yard putting clothes up on the clothesline when Frank The Tank decides to show up in his car to spy on her, smoke a ciggy and talk to himself about how she's a bitch and he knows that she has money. Lots of money. Some neighborhood watch guy finds him sitting in his car and tries to convince him to leave, only resulting in good old Frank strangling him so hard that blood starts gushing everywhere out of every angle of his neck. Jesus, how much pressure do you need to exude on a dude's neck to make it bleed like that from strangulation? Frank gets into the woman's house while she's sitting in a chair doing nothing, she gets startled, he smacks her around a few times and then she blasts him in the chest with a shotgun. And he falls onto a huge white towel that wasn't on the floor a moment before so the fake blood doesn't get everywhere. The production value here is astoundingly hilarious and doesn't care at all if the audience notices because SOV's never do. They exist only to entertain, not to bring life lesson's or philosophy. The old lady buries Frank in her backyard and has a heart attack. What an opening. That's all before the credits. Get yer' snacks now because once Frank comes back, it's all shitty relationships, boobs, black magic and crusty, smelly one-liners from here on out.

That clothesline squeaks like hell.

Frank The Tank is getting fired up.

How hard do you have to squeeze a man's neck to make him bleed?

It takes some serious balls to piss on a dead man's body in broad daylight.

Don't hurt her she says. After Frank already beat her up he did.

When your girl gets pissed, just read an independent movie mag. It will make everything better.

Who even cares about living with a woman before getting married being a sin?

Wheezy, Weller and Fred. What a glorious loser trifecta.

I think your relationship does need a breather.

That kind of was like a PSA.

Jake shouldn't care-he's used to sleeping in his car and on the beach.

Jesus, Bookie is a spaz.

Zits and zombies, I forgot to even mention the whole thing with this black chick named Token that can do curses and rain dances and all of that shit. She needs everyone to fully believe in her to make this stuff work, and getting towards the end it does. She ends up cursing everyone with some stomach issue that only makes Jake have to take an insane dump for some reason, and everyone else that tagged along to rent the old lady's house for the weekend gets killed by Frank The Tank in some form or fashion. Let's be real here-Burglar From Hell is not unlike any other SOV from the 80's and 90's in the way that a lot of random shit happens, but most of it makes no sense. That's the appeal besides that do-it-yourself spirit that those people possessed and craved during those years, and I'm glad that these films are bubbling up to the surface for us to lap up. If you want to see some dude rob an old lady in a black Kool t-shirt with that logo emblazoned on the front of it in screeching early 90's hot pink, you're in luck. Have Token do some spells on you first-it might enhance the experience.   

Mini-Golf Massacre

 

Our boy Leroy gets thrown out of keeping his job at the Puttz mini-golf course because according to fat ol' Mr. Puttz, the economy can't handle him working there anymore, so off he goes to be thrown to the wolves for better food, better beer and greater opportunities. Leroy doesn't find better food but he does find some beer at the local shit-hole bar and his greater opportunity turns out to be stealing the Chucklehead mask out of Mr. Puttz's car when he shows up at that same watering hole to pick up his burger from the bartender, which leads him to going around the mini-golf course in broad daylight and snuffing people out with mini-golf clubs, his bare hands and tying one of his ex-co-workers to a chair in front of one of the ball throwing machines in the batting cages. This is absolutely the most hilarious death scene in any film that I've seen in quite some time because it is one of those moments where you just have to experience it yourself to get the full effect-especially in the flow and context of what Mini-Golf Massacre has to offer. There really isn't to much here that Mini-Golf Massacre really does have to give away in terms of pure entertainment value, but the amount of times I rolled my eyes and actually laughed out loud while this 31 minute shot on video affair from 2013 played out on my pc monitor made up for anything else it could have done better. Which, in reality, is basically everything. This is a home made, back pocket project that only a very few will be able to appreciate, and I'm proud to say that I'm one of the elite in this group when it comes to films like this that 98% of the population would just stop sitting through within the first couple of minutes.

This is one of those short films where it resides in a vortex of unbelievable reality because let's be honest-who's really going to go this nuts (or nuts at all) from being let go from a position at a mini-golf course where you're tearing tickets for kids, stocking garbage prizes behind the counter you could easily acquire at the dollar store and making sure the arcade machines are playing properly. No one. No fucking one. Except Leroy. Leroy loved his job so much that he ends up getting absolutely gassed at that shitty bar I mentioned before, and after he throws back who knows how many shots of straight potato liquor and fermented wheat (the edit for this montage of getting plastered is complete with terrible rock music and ripple effects all over the screen letting you know that he's downright schwasted) he decides the best course of action is to wait until Mr. Puttz is inside the bar so he can steal the Chucklehead mask out of his passenger seat, and makes his way back to the mini-golf course to start rampagin' and killin' innocent people that are just outside trying to have a good time. I never knew that I would enjoy watching some ass-clown with a ridiculously stupid mask whacking people with a mini-golf club, but here I am, letting you know that if you have the right mindset and the film endurance to stomach such a fucking gross turd, then you're in luck. Just don't let Rex touch the saw. No one told him he could do that.

It's just a regular day at the mini-golf course.

Mr. Puttz? This guy looks like a putz.

Get lost, creep? You should have said, "get lost, you putz."

"Who told you to touch the saw, Rex?"

"Am I driving? Of course I'm driving!" "You're driving me nuts!"

Damn that's a lot of vodka.

That bench is about to snap in half. I'm glad Mr. Puttz isn't sitting on it.

Is Mr. Puttz that much of a local celebrity that the bartender had to interrupt everyone by announcing that he's going to be coming in to get a burger over the mic at his establishment?

Mr. Chucklehead is creeping in the outhouse!

"I'm a chef, I'm a chef, I'm a chef, I'm a chef, I'm a chef..."

Rex has the shittiest fake Brooklyn accent of all time. 

I'm going to attempt a hole-in-one here zits and zombies and say that Mini-Golf Massacre is a one of a kind treat. It's a short where I feel like my life is actually a little more complete knowing that it exists, and I feel healthier having actually watched it. We all need to release some anger once in awhile because of things that are going on in our lives, and Leroy figured out a cathartic way to express that himself. Although people were killed with mini-golf clubs and speedy baseballs shot at their heads, he was still able to do it in an orderly fashion, during work hours to satisfy some customers. That's the name of the game here and just because he became a maniac with a giant golf ball head terrorizing people doesn't mean he didn't have a reason. He just really loved working at that damn mini-golf course. Oh, and Leroy is basically one of the Polonia Brothers and an over exaggerated Ray Romano had a kid. Let that sink in as you decide if you want to track this down or not. Time to sink that eagle.