The powers that be at HorrorHomework.com have forced me to sit through the third installment in the Evil Bong Trilogy of Turd-dom, and I just want to start by thanking them for this opportunity.
The premise of this movie (plot would be far too strong of a word), from what I gather, is Sling Blade murders his wife and then gets high from a smoking, moss-covered meteor and starts turning green. At least I think that’s what happened, I wasn’t really paying attention. It would explain the whole with French fried potaters fascination, though.
I reckon they’re at least brothers, Mmmm hmmm.
The space rock is harboring a stowaway– a dickish little bong– which dude brings to a head shop run by Brett (Brian Lloyd) and Bachman (Mitch Eakins), two of our high-on heroes from the first two movies.
This was the face I made throughout most of this movie as well.
Soon our boys are joined by the other half of the dope fiend foursome—Larnell (John Patrick Jordan) and Alistair (Peter Stickles). While the role of Alistair is played by the third poor sap in as many movies, this time the script writers packed the plot bowl err hole by having Larnell mention how different he looked. Clever.
Umm, should we be seeing this?
So the space bong is intent on taking over the Earth, by way of luring those that toke from it into its bong world and stealing their semen. Seems legit. Or, as Larnell states, “Bong’s being a total d-bag.”
Grandpa Cyril (Jacob Witkin) shows up reborn as Dr. Weed, and has some alien mime nurse with him that is never quite explained… which is fine, because no one cares.
The bong takes a couple of prisoners, because after two movies these fucktards still haven’t figured out that they shouldn’t take rips from a bong that talks mean shit, and the remaining bumbling burnouts are tasked with saving the world. Again. <yawn>
Luckily Grandpa still possesses Eebee (voiced by Michelle Mais), the original evil bong that once killed everyone but now is easily controlled with just a little duct tape over her mouth, and the boys must rely on her to help destroy the latest piece of paranormal paraphernalia. They obviously only brought her in for star power, because, as she says, she “don’t know nothin’ ‘bout that fucker, ‘cept he’s an asshole.”
And seriously, what is it with bad alien movies and baseball bats? For fuck’s sake.
Swing away, numb nuts!
I think Grandpa Cyril says it best (as usual) when describing the joy at seeing these lovable characters resurface: “I enjoy my flare ups of my genital herpes more than I do seeing your insipid face(s) again!”
I can’t think of anything else to even say about this movie, which bills itself as a horror comedy and effectively achieves neither.
Dude, it’s time for some serious manscaping.
GRADE: For an equally effortless ending line I’ll close with a line from Grandpa that summarizes this whole dumb franchise: “I think this thing stinks, like a sumo wrestler’s just taken a dump on a burning tire.” Indeed.
Final Note: While the sequels completely killed the joy I found in the first Evil Bong movie, at least I can find solace in the fact that I’m finally through with this series.
This movie was more disappointing than an empty bag of Funyuns. If the first Evil Bong was some killer kush, this sequel was a seedy bag of ditchweed. Sick of the forced stoner references yet? Then you wouldn’t survive the first ten minutes of this cliché-encrusted crapfest.
Just in case you suffer from short-term memory loss, Evil Bong II opens with a three minute and twenty second recap of the first film… which is much longer than is truly necessary to revisit all the complex plot points of the cannabis-packed classic.
In this steaming pile of a sequel, the four main characters from the original are back in inaction. The three stereotypical stoners reprise their groundbreaking roles from the first film. However the role of nerdy Alistair, played by David Weidoff in the original movie, is now being played by Brett Chukerman, but they both have glasses and say science-y shit a lot so whatever.
Old vs. New Alistair. Who cares.
The premise of the film is that the three potheads are experiencing delayed and extremely exaggerated side effects of weed smoking after their run in with the possessed paraphernalia from movie one. Who would’ve guessed that being murdered inside of an evil bong and magically reincarnated at said bong’s destruction would have adverse effects?
Bachman (Mitch Eakins) develops narcolepsy. Brett (Brian Lloyd) has insatiable munchies and gains about four thousand pounds in two weeks.
And Larnell (John Patrick Jordan), well, I thought his gimmick was chronic paranoia after his wide-eyed opening line to Alistair where he explains his sudden decision to drop out of school: “Colleges and universities… schools of higher learning… total donkey dick, bro!” As it turns out, ten minutes later he fucks a skateboard and his pubertyesque horniness is dubbed simply “lowered inhibitions.”
Please. If smoking large amounts of weed actually resulted in perma-boners, my first marriage would have been much more fulfilling.
Anyway, the boys decide in order to break the curse of the evil (yet broken) bong, they must travel to South America to investigate the bong’s back story. Of course they bring the pieces of the bong with them, because… I don’t know. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that logic doesn’t have much of a role in this film.
So waiting for our heroes in South America there’s a hot scientist chick that helps them, some more hot (but much less helpful) native chicks called the Poontang Tribe, and another bong that apparently broke the heart of the star smoking device of the first film, which I can relate to because I’ve broken plenty of bongs in my day. Usually just the stem pieces, but whatever. It’s tragic, nonetheless.
But even the arrival of Grandpa C (Jacob Witkin), the high-light (see what I did there?) of the first film couldn’t save this sequel from sucking so hard it chokes itself sober. Even his one liners have lost much of their zest. While he refers to the Poontang as “tribal twats” and “bongnappin’ bitches”, about the best insult he could come up with for his grandson Larnell was “turd”. How desperate is that? Pffffft.
So there were a few salvageable buds in this seedy stash of shit… such as Brett hitting his forehead on Lynell’s eternal boner, or the magical pound-shedding weed diet that would make Jared from Subway cream his fat jeans. King Bong himself, while not that intimidating to look at, had a few decent lines. It’s no wonder Eebee (the original Evil Bong, keep up) fell for him. I don’t know how harsh he hits, but he sure talks smooth… with pickup lines such as, “My heart beats fast for you, ‘cause I need a lot of blood to keep this big ass dick up!” <sigh> It’s nice to see that even murderous lifestyle accessories can have a romantic side.
I’m pretty sure watching this movie destroyed more of my brain cells than a few rips from any bong, evil or otherwise, could manage to kill. By the time I finish watching the third in the series, Evil Bong 3-D: The Wrath of Bong, I’ll probably be as brain dead and tongue-in-mouth-challenged as Miley Cyrus drowning in a tank of semen-flavored ice cream, but I’ll do my best to at least mumble some shitty anal-ogies about it for y’all.
Speaking of mumbling, it’s time to reward the Turd Trophy for best line of this fecalicious flick. While I thought Grandpa would be a shoo in once I discovered his role was renewed, I have to give the Poop Prize to King Bong, for perfectly summing up this entire franchise with “Boom Shocka Locka, Bitch!”
Yes. Boom shocka locka, indeed. Bitch.
GRADE: In Grandpa C’s words, “as useless as a disease infested jock strap.”
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).
What Would Jesus Doob?
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.
Damn it, Janet, indeed!
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.
Except this one.
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.
Even Phil Fondacaro had a “small” role.
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!”
Gretel (Stephanie Greco), however, is hardworking and determined– which is a character contrast that is not at ALL played out. She works at a bakery that’s oh-so-cleverly called The Gingerbread House, which is conveniently located about 30 seconds from a super scary forest. When Hansel sulks off and gets his big, dumb foot caught in a bear trap, she catches up right away and leads him to a creepy cabin in the woods to find help… because walking the ten feet back to the diner would be silly.
I know it’s surprising when you knock on a seemingly random stranger’s door for help and a coworker answers, but if your brother is bleeding to death would that take priority over small talk? Not for our own Chatty Kathy doll Gretel! She’s so excited to see her boss, Lilith (Dee Wallace, of E.T. and Cujo fame—in other words, she hasn’t done anything worth noting since the 80s), that she rambles on about her surprise at it being her house for a few minutes before mentioning her half-dead brother. After all, politeness is much more important than platelets.
I think she also played Chucky in Childs Play.
Of course Lilith turns out to be a flesh-devouring witch that keeps the “kids” she hasn’t cooked yet captive in a dungeon while pining for Gretel to become her understudy, but she bakes some killer sugar cookies.
While the plot progression is quite predictable from there, it wasn’t without some stellar moments. I think my favorite scene included dad attacking the witch with what appeared to be surprise buttsex behind a Volkswagen, which I maintain was the true climax of the movie.
Also awesome was the sheriff shooting a guy eight times and then mumbling, “Who was that guy, anyway?” Way to make German folklore into a true American classic. Bravo!
One thing all fairy tales have in common is they teach valuable life lessons, and while this movie strayed from the whole children and bread crumbs thing it wasn’t without its morals. Despite the unexplained (and inexcusable) mystery of where exactly the prisoners pooped, I did walk away having learned a lot. For example:
-If you have a fake wooden chest barricading the staircase to a dungeon, no one will hear people screaming as they’re being roasted alive.
-When cooking a girl, leave her bra and panties on. Extra fiber, and shit.
-Death is unpredictable. A gargantuan dude putting all his weight into stabbing someone is no match for a limp-wristed throat slash by a scared, skinny chick. On the other hand, a person who cries like a bitch over an ankle wound can be stabbed in the chest and not only walk away but comfort those around him. And a guy who runs away after getting shot by an arrow might get smucked by a car long after you forgot he’s even in the damn film.
-When confronted by a police deputy, it’s best to allow him or her to get the sheriff on the phone and communicate their whereabouts and who they’re with before clubbing him to death.
-If you mope around about your mother’s death for an entire movie, it probably won’t bother you a bit to see your dad stabbed repeatedly.
-It shouldn’t take more than 30 seconds to fabricate an elaborate (and deadly) boobie trap in the woods.
-Chances are, any cute chick you meet in a dungeon awaiting their turn to be eaten by cannibals has daddy issues. Steer clear.
I love you, Daddy.
While the majority of this movie was more painful than a scalding hot skewer in the pooper, I was able to award the highly sought after Poopy Proclamation Prize early on (and although I just used a derivative of “poop” twice in one sentence, I sadly cannot award it to myself). Anyway, the award goes to Hansel, for the eloquent utterance that must come directly from the book: “You’re not leaving me out here in the woods, okay, where some rabid animal is going to feed on my nutsack!”
GRADE: D, like the unmentioned Dungheap that must be lurking somewhere in the dungeon.
For having one of the most basic horror movie premises ever, this putrid picture turned out to be a fickle little shit when it came to picking a title. While I saw it dubbed Devil Seed, according to IMDb.com the title was changed to The Devil in Me. I also stumbled across a cover for the film labeled The Darkness, which is the title supporting actress Shantelle Canzanese cites on her online resume. (Why she’d admit to being in it at all, I’m still unsure.) Change the name all you want, assholes; it’s as effective a marketing ploy as putting lipstick on a turd… or however that saying goes.
Hey, uh, does Alex live here?
The premise: College girls get drunk, stumble into a weird fortune teller, and one of them gets possessed by a demon that rapes and impregnates her. Honestly, who didn’t have to deal with that shit their sophomore year?
Note: That’s the fortune teller, not the demon.
So strange crap starts happening to the possessed Alex (Michelle Argyris), though sadly none of which included being infused with any real acting ability.
Perhaps the most profound moment of this movie came during the library scene, where our possessed protagonist, desperate for answers, dramatically types “demons” into a Google search bar. While words and pictures swirl around her big dumb head, the most terrifying thing possible happens—a black guy walks into the library and sits by her. Scary!
The only saving grace of this movie is Bree (Vanessa Broze), the bitchy, big-tittied roommate who is screwing Alex’s boyfriend since Alex won’t.
How Alex can resist the geeky piece of man meat that is Brian (Kevin Jake Walker) is beyond me, but it plays right into the devil’s dick because he requires a virgin to implant with his seed. I would’ve figured Satan would go for the sluts, but I guess his desire for an unpopped cherry is why it took thirty years for him to find a qualified baby mama. After all, as the great Dr. Dre once said, “Bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks.”
Alex did have ONE shining moment of awesomeness, though. What better way is there to say, “I know you’re sleeping with my man,” than speaking in tongues, pissing on the floor, and then licking it up? Classic. I know Bree learned her lesson.
I learned a few things from this movie as well. First, if you’re hearing strange noises and the TV turns on by itself and the front door keeps flying open, just close the window in the upstairs bedroom; that should take care of it. Also, if you keep the front door wide open at all times you won’t have to worry about it flying open, which is something these chicks obviously picked up on immediately because they were obviously RAISED IN A GODDAMN BARN. Next, if you’re running from a possessed roommate, rush into the street and embrace a stranger; that can’t possibly end badly. And most importantly, your best defense against evil is always a clear shower curtain.
Now is the part of the review where I award the Poopy Proclamation Prize for the best quote of the film. It was difficult this time around, as the majority of the dialogue of this crapfest consisted of assorted whiny variations of, “What’s happening to me?” and, “Are you okay?” While it was hard to sift through what was left to find anything worth repeating, I ended up going with my favorite part of the exorcism scene. (I didn’t bother describing that anticlimactic act here, because if you’ve seen one botched exorcism you’ve seen ‘em all, amirite?) Anyway, the following exchange basically sums up the whole movie:
I know what you’re thinking: a horror movie starring Corey Feldman? How could this POSSIBLY turn out turdy? I mean, he was in The Lost Boys and The Goonies! Sure, those were 26 and 28 years ago respectively, but the advert for this modern B movie still blurbs that bullshit as though it will lure in hordes of hungry-for-Feldman fans.
Awwww… He MUST still be cool.
I rest my case.
What were we talking about? Oh yeah, 6 Degrees of Hell. I must say I was incredibly disappointed to see only ONE Corey in the credits. A horror movie would’ve been the PERFECT vehicle for the bloated corpse of Corey Haim to make a cameo for the Coreyunion we all forgot we’re craving. (Don’t you dare say it’s too soon; the Coreys’ careers have definitely been dead for far longer than the statute of limitations on cracking cadaver jokes.)
While I might have an unnatural love for all things Corey, I’m apparently not the only one. He was obviously cast in this crapfest for his name only. In 6 Degrees of Hell Mr. Feldman’s character, Kyle Brenner, certainly served no real purpose—much like Corey himself as a human being.
Other than looking fly as hell.
The film’s actual “story,” if that’s what you want to call it, is being told to Brenner- a paranormal investigator- by a police deputy that must have been psychic himself because he only appeared in about three scenes.
The synopsis: <takes deep breath> So there’s this Halloween attraction called the Hotel of Horror, which was of course built on top of some evil something or other and is full of real-life evil shit, and there’s this group of people that all have some sort of sordid connection to the place and/or the shit inside and it’s all a front by the devil, who possesses people to get to this chick June (Nicole Cinaglia), who’s some sort of psychic but admits she shouldn’t be telling fortunes when she’s been drinking, so she goes skinny dipping while the chick she just predicted a violent death for is left alone to (can you guess??) violently die, so she hooks up with and gets knocked up by the dead chick’s boyfriend in the most boring sex scene in the history of sex scenes, and I’ve suffered through Amish porn. (On that note, NEVER eat freshly-churned butter; you do NOT want to know what goes into those barrels.)
Uncle Jack (Brian Gallagher) is the proprietor of the haunted hotel, and other than rocking a pink shirt and saying cool shit like, “I pretty much just dry humped that thing up three flights of stairs and I didn’t see shit,” in reference to a haunted statue is a pretty unremarkable character. Then there’s Kellen (Joe Raffa), the Dick Cheney of zombie hunting– it’s all fun and games until you accidentally shoot your buddy in the neck. And we can’t forget the paranormal investigator that ISN’T Corey Feldman, and is actually involved in the movie. Erik Sanborn (Kyle Patrick Brennan) has the unique psychic ability to watch his sister being violently fucked to death and then talk to the cops about his hokey reality show two minutes later.
We’re told by someone (I don’t remember who; honestly by this point in the movie I had polished off most of a gallon of wine) that we all stand with “only six degrees of separation from hell,” which I was devastated to learn had NOTHING to do with Kevin Bacon.
Although those who have seen Hollow Man might beg to differ.
As anyone who watched the first three minutes of this turd could guess, the movie closes with some shit going down in the haunted house.
GRADE: Pffffft. Corey doesn’t care about grades. He’s too cool for school, bitches.
Oh, good! The only thing the sewer of modern cinema is lacking more than remakes of 80s flicks is more “found footage” features. If that alone doesn’t tickle your colon, then get this: the film footage is from a documentary crew… filming behind the scenes footage… for a <take a deep breath and get ready for this> feature film. Now if that isn’t a titillating trifecta of turdiness than I don’t know what is.
Honestly, this movie wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be… after watching the first hour. Seriously, I noted the time the first “spooky” thing happened (or remotely interesting scene, unless you count the tit pinwheel we’re treated to when one of the filmmakers is banging a secretary) and it was at 47 minutes in.
Our characters are lovable enough. We have the head of the three-person film crew, Kennedy (Jessica Morris). She’s hot, smart, and apparently the only one of the three equipped with any balls. Most of the footage is seen through the lens of James (Jeff Adler), who is the mostly reasonable one who occasional blurts out nonsensical shit like, “Oh man, that looks so sketch!” Then there’s Cory (Kaiwi Lyman), aka Secretary Screwer, who is pretty much a skittish Spicoli. Seriously, this dude’s afraid of his own dick.
The set for the movie our documentary divas are working on is an old mental hospital. After taking one of their 4,000 walks they decide to strategically place cameras around the abandoned (except for conveniently placed set lights) halls and morgue. Because ALL mental hospitals have their very own morgue, right? After all, being dead doesn’t necessarily make a person sane.
Once you get through an hour of walking, arguing and chasing after that rascally Kennedy who’s always running off, this movie actually gets decent. Unlike shit like V/H/S and Blair Witch, apparently the footage was filmed digitally so there aren’t any seizure-inducing static scenes. (Don’t yell at me about my jab at V/H/S, I had an epileptic fit long before I could form an opinion about it.) And, also unlike The Blair Witch Bowel Movement, Reel Evil has legitimate shit-your-pants scary scenes.
Oh, the whole time it was a game of Hide and Seek and that douchebag was “it.” Awesome.
But I have a hard time digesting this supposed discovered documentary for these reasons:
#1 – Who the fuck edited it? There are, by my count (and I can’t count, hence why I write) five cameras capturing the carnage here. And if someone took the time to edit it, then
#2 – Why the fuck didn’t they cut out all the damn walking and arguing? That shit was tiresome and made me feel like I was mall walking during a power outage with my ex in-laws. Even the closing credits were drawn out ridiculously long. This movie could’ve (and should’ve) been ten minutes long. Then it would have been epic.
#3 – I’ll overlook the whole “still filming while running for your life” bit, but not being able to get up if your camera breaks? Weak.
There are some moments of unintentional comic relief.. Our documentary crew placed a camera at the end of a haunted hallway, and a few times we’re treated to the lost crew as well as the director, “Dirk the Dick”, disappearing into one doorway and coming out another as they frantically try to find their way out. It looked like a special episode of Scooby Doo.
In my pre-review research (yes, I actually research this shit so I have an educated ass to speak out of) I watched the VideoZone – and no, the irony of watching a behind the scenes documentary about a movie about the making of a behind the scenes documentary was not lost on me. Every cast and crew member interviewed spoke of spooks on the set… which is awfully convenient for a horror movie you’re trying to promote.
The film was made in six days of shooting (five of them dedicated to the arguing scenes) at the empty Linda Vista Community Hospital, which does have a reputation for being haunted. An episode of the paranormal hunting series Ghost Adventures was filmed there, as well as many other movie and television programs such as Outbreak, 1000 Ways to Die, and the ever-terrifying Charm School with Ricki Lake.
Despite its obvious flaws, I found Reel Evil to be an overall enjoyable film. Of course, have you seen the rest of the shit they make me watch??? <shudder> The special effects were well executed, the characters were decent, and there was a potty emergency in the middle of lost-in-the-depths-of-a-haunted-asylum scene. What more could a crappy critic ask for?
As is turdy tradition, I must give away the award for the best quote of the film. And the Poopy Proclamation Prize goes to: <drum roll please> Kennedy!! The winning line: “What did you expect it to look like, a horror movie?”
The plot— a family trades homes with hillbilly strangers in what is supposedly a perfectly normal vacation plan. They go to a town called Nilbog, which is apparently clever because it’s “goblin” spelled backwards. Now I’m no Dungeons & Dragons expert, but I thought goblins and trolls were two different fictional beings?? I apologize to all the Middle Earth enthusiasts out there if I’m wrong, but in my defense–I’ve had sex.
I’d apologize for my digression, but honestly discussing diarrhea would be more entertaining that this shit flick. A poop pun would be too generous to describe the acting in this movie. The mom (Margo Prey) had a constant deer-in-headlights look, even before they were in danger. The horny teen daughter’s random mirror dance in her Garfield shirt was by far Connie Young’s best scene. And the main character, little Joshua (Michael Stephenson)—well, I’m pretty sure the goblins may have just been those rude little Mucinex monsters that morphed to life in his cavernous nasal passages.
Everyone in Nilbog has matching melanomas shaped like clover leaves, and all the food has a green glaze all over it… but that doesn’t bother anyone but Joshua. In order to save his family from digesting the semeny slime he stands up and pisses all over the dinner table, earning him a few cool points and forcing from dad (George Hardy) the runner-up for the Quote of the Movie award: “You can’t piss on hospitality!”
But the real problem here isn’t the monsters trying to eat them. No, it’s that sister’s horned-up boyfriend (Jason Wright) can’t seem to choose between her or his friends! Oh em GEE! Luckily for everyone, all his friends die after ingesting the green jizz, causing them to mutate into plants and become troll food. At least one problem in this shitshow was easily solved! As for the abominable acting—sadly, that issue went ignored.
Then there’s the crazy neighbor witch lady (Deborah Reed) who specializes in making snarky faces into the camera. However, when the family avoids all the goblitrolls traps and she morphs into sexy librarian mode you just know shit’s about to get real.
The only aid to Joshua and his giant nostrils is his dead Grandpa (Robert Ormsby), who randomly appears in mirrors and at his bedside and warns him that goblins are trying to eat him and his family. Naturally this comforts the little boy, and when they need Grandpa’s help the most the family holds a séance to try to reach the fear-mongering patriarch. I was hoping the movie would redeem itself here with an impromptu performance of “Day O,” but as at every other turn in this flick I was dreadfully disappointed.
I’ll be honest here; I turned my attention to playing Angry Birds during the conclusion of this movie. The ill-tempered, tree-dwelling torpedoes were far more entertaining (and more realistic) than anything going on in the ass grenade being played out on my television. I do think, however, that the goblitrolls were grossly misunderstood. I mean, they lived strictly on a plant diet (mainly humans turned into plants, but whatever), had large anti-meat propaganda-pushing rallies, and turned into shrieking, preachy little pissants when someone ate meat in front of them– are we sure they weren’t just uppity vegans? An annoying creature, sure; but not exactly dangerous.
Anyway, despite its shittiness there are a few things to be learned from Troll 2: never eat fruit or vegetables, if the house you’re staying in is haunted just switch bedrooms and you’ll be fine, if a movie is accepted worldwide as being the worst movie ever you don’t have to watch it just to make sure, and for God’s sake DON’T EAT THE GREEN JIZZ.
Now for the moment you’ve ALL been waiting for (the end), the winner of the Poopy Proclamation Prize!!! It goes to the dimwit boyfriend Elliot who, when surrounded by a room full of angry goblins, utters the magical phrase, “Please, let’s talk! We’re all humans here!”
Finally, a completely original ghost movie!! Or is it just a blatant (and poorly executed) rip-off of The Maid? Regardless, Ghost Month was certainly one of the smelliest slices of cinematic shit to splatter only the small screen in the last few years.
Despite its lack of originality, Ghost Month is truly a groundbreaking film—every written word, whether it is a neatly handwritten letter or the caller ID display of a cell phone, is not only shown on screen but also read aloud by the main character, Alyssa (Marina Resa). This makes Ghost Month the first movie catering to the functionally illiterate that does not star Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson.
Oh, right… the “plot.” A twitchy young woman takes a housekeeper job in the middle of nowhere to escape from her never quite explained romance gone awry with Jacob (Jerod Edington), whose dubbed “Jerome” in the IMDb.com credits—proving that even serious movie nerds don’t give a rat’s ass about the details of this fecal-fest.
The home Alyssa flees to is owned by Miss Wu (Shirley To), who seems to be reading all of her lines from a teleprompter; and her Silent Bob-esque sidekick Aunt Chen (Akiko Shima), who specializes in looking creepily disapproving at all times.
Apparently there is a stellar set of rules to keep these lost souls at bay, but no one bothers telling our frumpy housekeeper until she’s already broken them all. And how she didn’t just know this shit already is beyond me. I mean, duh, Ghost Avoiding 101 right here:
No whistling. (Little known fact—this was how the seven dwarfs met their doom.)
Don’t turn and look if someone calls your name outside. (In other words, be a dick—but only outdoors.)
Don’t sweep up an ash pile of crap that was burned as an offering to the spirits. (Seems like a legit reason to not clean for a month.)
So obviously Alyssa already fucked the Panda Bear on all of those, so she starts being haunted (and possibly butt raped, although she seemed to enjoy it) by ghosts. And despite the fact that she passes out every five minutes, we still get treated to a little 80s style work montage (minus the killer hair band music… stupid, low-budget crapfest) which reminds us that, being stalked by spirits from hell or not, bitches had better do the fucking dishes.
There really is no plot left to discuss, only some fantastic extra (and quite useless) characters. First there’s Nicole (Kierstin Cunnington), Alyssa’s extremely observant friend that she talks to on the phone a couple of times.
Alyssa: “I keep seeing things, people. Do you believe in spirits?”
Nicole: “Wait, I know where this is going. You think you’re seeing ghosts, right?”
Seriously, you can’t get anything past this chick.
Then there’s Jacob, the creepy ex-boyfriend. While we never quite learn what his deal is, we do know that he likes to completely lose his shit while leaving voicemail messages (and then call right back to apologize), and occasionally strangle a bitch. He becomes a clear favorite in the character pool early on in this meadow muffin of a movie.
We can’t forget Blake (Rick Irvin), the extremely-odd-but-normal-compared-to-everyone-else neighbor. As an author/veterinarian/horse breeder with a hard on for housekeepers, he also enjoys burying dead horses in garbage bags at night. While he doesn’t respond with much curiosity to blood curdling screams, a dog barking in the distance (which is another wtf? moment, since supposedly only Miss Wu and Blake have property on this mountain and neither own a dog) sends him on a vigilante mission to the creepy neighbor’s haunted abode.
My favorite Blake moment doesn’t have jack shit to do with him, though. As it turns out, our homely heroine Alyssa loathes him SO MUCH that she goes to his house TWICE to call him a liar and tell him to leave her the hell alone… only to spy on him with night vision binoculars for a while. Seems legit.
Despite the engaging characters, it’s the dialogue of this movie that makes it for me. Miss Wu, queen of the nonchalant, says to Alyssa on the last evening of the ghost month: “You should be happy, because, you know, the king of hell is gonna come out and get all the spirits and take ‘em back to hell.” I know that put me at ease.
Here are a few of the life lessons taught to us by Ghost Month (aside from the not whistling bullshit above):
-You can die from having a shit ton of hair wrapped around your face.
-If you’re being pursued by a cold blooded killer, hide under the bed. You’ll be safe.
-If you’re sitting in a tiny dungeon-like pit and the key to the lock holding you in is lying two feet away from you, it will take hours to find it.
-If someone forces a poisonous pill into your mouth and then swallows one himself, causing foaming-at-the-mouth death within minutes, as long as you spit out said pill after sucking on it for ten minutes you’ll be fine.
I always like to close these shitty reviews with my favorite quote from the cinematic stool sample being examined, and it was extremely difficult to choose just one from this gastrointestinal gem of a script. In the end though, I have to give the Poopy Proclamation Prize to Miss Wu, for: “I see you’ve been snooping around. As a housekeeper, you’re awfully messy.” ZING!
So this shit flick is nearly 25 years old; get over it. When I took this glamorous gig I polled my friends (all three of them) on the worst horror movies ever, and not only did this masterfeces of semi-modern cinema receive numerous nominations, it’s readily available on Netflix. Considering I’m a lazy turd, and much like this movie I have absolutely no budget to work with (can’t be going all buck wild at Blockbuster on HorrorHomework.com’s dime… besides, my rental card was callously cut up in front of me years ago due to my inability to return soft porn on time, but that’s a tale for another day) it was an easy selection to make. Plus I discovered after sitting through this film that there’s a sequel to this shit show slated to hit theatres in 2013, and in 3D no less! And that, my friends, is what we call accidental relevance.
Before I even began watching this bowel-blasting Big Top bonanza, I got a good laugh out of the title. Killer Klowns, really? Changing the proper spelling of a word just so your run of the mill retard would pick up on the kompletely klever alliteration? Pfffffft. That’s desperation, right there.
Anyway, both of you that are still reading this probably want me to get to the pertinent poop: the movie. Unfortunately for you guys, I loved this film. With a craptastically catchy theme song (performed by The Dickies) and college kids walking around during the intro with cans of generically labeled “BEER” I knew from the first five minutes that this was going to be one of the more buoyant butt nuggets to emerge from the bowels of the 80s.
Oh yeah, the premise: So, some alien clowns land their spaceship in the middle of nowhere. Mike and Debbie (Grant Cramer and Suzanne Snyder), a young couple that are still far too old to be hanging out on a hilltop full of horny teenagers dubbed the “Top of the World,” happen to see the flash of light as it lands and decide that wandering aimlessly after a shooting star is more exciting than making out.
They come across what appears to be a circus tent in the middle of a damn field. In typical cheesy 80’s horror movie hero fashion, they go inside to check it out. Once inside “Circus Bizarro” they discover cotton candy cocoons containing corpses (or Kotton Kandy Kocoons Kontaining Korpses, if you’d prefer) of the Klowns’ earliest victims.
Inevitably they become targets of the Klowns, who are so stinking cute you just want to pinch their damn cheeks and hug their big bloated bellies. Seriously, this movie could probably cure Coulrophobia. Ruthless killers or not, these fuckers are adorable.
Of course, Mike and Debbie escape and run to the police for help. The town has all of two officers; the young Dave (John Allen Nelson), who happens to be Debbie’s still-hung-up-on-her ex-boyfriend, and Officer Mooney (John Vernon) who is more of the stereotypical-aging-alcoholic-on-a-power-trip-with-an-unnatural-hatred-for-all-things-youthful type.
On top of cotton candy cocoons, these clowns are armed with popcorn pistols and balloon animal tracking dogs—the last of which tragically gets hit by a car, and even my stoic ass couldn’t help but shed a tear for him. (Where the fuck Is Sarah McLachlan when you need her?)
The popcorn turns out to be more than just a delicious treat, they’re clown seedlings. And while we’re treated to Debbie’s obligatory shower scene the babies hatch, and you can see why this movie will be forever cemented in my little black heart (and lower G.I. tract).
Don’t worry; a shower head and ripped down curtain are adequate defenses against these toothy toddlers.
The sets for this movie may have been made from construction paper and Papier-mâché, but it has some of the best killing scenes ever. Puppet show death rays, shadow puppet people eaters, and death by cheesecake are just a few of the klever ways these klowns kill. What they lack on the pants-shittingly-scary scale they certainly make up in style.
The intergalactic jesters’ motive is finally revealed when one of the clowns sticks a crazy straw into a corpse cocoon and slurps up the blood juice of the victim inside, proving even ridiculous clown puppets are still more badass vampires than Twilight. I mean, it’s okay for vampires to twist balloon animals, spin cotton candy, juggle, and squirt water from fake lapel flowers; but they should never, EVER sparkle. Pffffffffffffft.
These chicks = Better lays than Bella.
Anyway, the poor clowns’ weakness turns out to be their nose; as even the biggest, baddest Bozo among them is brought down by a slap on the sniffer with a flimsy police badge.
The movie’s close leaves us with many mysteries to ponder. How was Debbie able to survive for the half hour she must’ve been locked in that beach ball, if she wasn’t able to breathe inside? What became of all the popcorn seedlings strategically placed in dumpsters all over town, despite the destruction of the mother ship? Did Mike, Debbie, and Dave have a threesome while they were still covered in clown goo, or did Mike and Dave ditch Debbie and ride off into the sunset together? Hopefully the sequel will address some of these key issues.
Lastly, while this movie was jam packed with fecalicious zingers, Kimmy Karnage’s Kleverest Kwote Award goes to grumpy Officer Mooney for, “Well Whoop-de-goddamn-de-doo!”