First of all, let me just say that how this groundbreaking specimen of cinematic art landed in the lap of the resident shit sifter is beyond me. There was so much awesomeness billowing up from this movie that they had to crap out two clones and stuff the tokin’ trilogy into a luxurious $12 box set, cleverly titled Evil Bong-o-rama. (Relax –my assessment of Evil Bong 2 – King Bong (2009) and Evil Bong 3 – The Wrath of Bong (2011) are forthcoming. When I feel like it. Or, when I get bored and run out of weed.)
I knew from the opening segment featuring a statue of Jesus smoking a joint that this movie was going to be something special. Stoner Jesus just so happens to reside outside of the party pad where straight-laced super nerd Alistair (David Weidoff) decides to rent a room (or at least some floor space).
I couldn’t help but think that our lost little Alistair looks a lot like another famous nerd, and the fact that the hot chick he’s crushing on turns out to be named Janet kind of left me longing for a certain sweet transvestite… but I digress.
As the more astute observers among us may have guessed, the apartment is occupied by a few stereotypical stoners, and apparently the film was sponsored by Lucky Charms, as there seems to be a box of magical deliciousness in every shot.
Don’t let any of this tomfoolery distract you; the film is dedicated to the heartwarming story of Eebee (voiced by Michele Mais), a weathered, yet tried-and-true water bong whose face looks like Michael Jackson and Zsa Zsa Gabor’s mutant crackbaby. All Eebee really wants out of life is what everyone truly craves, “A great big beautiful stoned world, with lots of clouds, and oceans of bong water.” Her voice is as majestic as a drunken drag queen, and when a character expresses that he missed the dear, sweet piece of paraphernalia she eloquently replies, “I know you did, motherfucker!”
I’d hate to spoil the deep, dank secrets of this complex screenplay, so you’ll just have to watch and see how the endearing bong proves itself to be ill tempered. However, I can tell you there were more random (and pointless) cameos in this flick than a Stephen King story set in a small Maine town.
Some might classify Tommy Chong’s limited role in this chronic thriller as just another lame cameo, but I assure you, this movie could not have existed without Jimbo. First, he has such profound lines as, “It’s the bong, man. It’s evil.” How would we have known??Second, those Hot Wheels Cars aren’t going to drive themselves over those strippers’ hilly bosoms. Last and most importantly, actually that second one was probably his biggest contribution. Never mind.
Alright, how about some highlights? (See what I did there?) First, the segues. Between scenes viewers are treated to a peppy melody while pot leafs swirl on the screen. I expected the kids from That 70s Show to start jumping up and down at any moment like they had been squatting over a boiling geyser of bong water, but sadly it never happened. However, this film’s full soundtrack absolutely needs to be playing in my garage at all times. Because that’s where I, um, you know, work out.
Then there’s the bras. What’s scarier (and sexier) than cheap ass latex-looking skulls, sharks, and lips covering the nasty bits on the strippers that live in a club conveniently located right inside of a bong? Nothing, that’s what.
Weidoff was brilliant in the complex role of Alistair. He was flawless as his character seemlessly developed from an uptight bookworm that refused to risk a single brain cell on a bong, to a horned up hero that’s willing to stash a dead body in order to throw a good party. I could almost feel the bubbles seeping through the crotch of this masterful performance. The Academy may not have noticed, but I sure as hell did.
No review would be complete without mentioning the “I’m horny” gorilla dance by Luann (Robin Sydney), complete with leg humping and orgasmic pogo sticking. Need I say more?
While the above mentioned shit was all cool, the best scene in the history of cinema took place when Larnell’s grandfather (Jacob Witkin) drops by unexpectedly with his blushing bride while our buzzed up boys frantically try to hide their buddy’s corpse. Grandpa drops helpful housekeeping advice to the baked bachelors, such as, “Why don’t you limp dicks clean this pigsty up… miserable bunch of no-account cocksuckers!” Ahh, aren’t the elderly just adorable?!?
I knew the most difficult part of this review would be awarding the Poopy Proclamation Prize, as this film was a goldmine of delectable dialogue. After careful consideration (and already using a bunch of cool quotes in the body of this review) I’ve narrowed it down to two. So without further adoo-doo, here are the triumphant winners of the turd trophies!
Runner-Up: Alistair, for, “Ah, flatulence humor. The comic allure of intestinal gas.” You’ve sure got me pegged, four eyes!
Grand Prize of Poopdom: Grandpa, with this loving quip to his grandson: “I only hope that one day convincts will feast upon your scrotum sack.” Now that’s love.
GRADE: I know I’ve given this grade once before, but Eebie the evil bong says it best. “Fuckin’ A!”