RED WATER (2003)

WHAT THE MONSTER TAUGHT ME: Rappers go down nice with Cajun spice.

THE CARD:

La Bomba, Culo-io, Buffy Prime, Cajun Man the Backwater Philosopher, a serious lack of subtitles during stupid accent scenes, hideous acts of Grampa-cide, the Schofield Skid Mark, Southern-drawled sodomy jokes, a whole lot of bayou bull shark, a fishy trip to the dentist, and Shark: 1, Has-been Rapper: 0.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Down in the Mississippi Delta, an elderly man goes missing while fishing with his Grandson. The cops do nothing. Another person disappears after fishing off the shores of the mighty Mississip. The cops do nothing. A hot chick gets gobbled off a resort pier by a giant fresh water bull shark. Call in the Coast Guard! Meanwhile, John Sanders’ (Lou Diamond Phillips) diving business is tanking and the bank is threatening to repossess his boat unless he comes up with some quick cash. His ex-wife Kelli (Kristy Swanson) suddenly shows up and offers him a business proposition. A former environmentalist, she works for a mega-corporation that wants to drill for natural gas in the bayou – but, you know – safely. Uh huh. And since John is the best natural-gas finding-guy in the world ever, she has turned to him to make sure things are done right. He begrudgingly takes the job to save his business, to keep his Cajun hired hand Emery (Rob Boltin) happy, and maybe to get another shot at the Boff Buffy title. On the other side of town, hotshot Aussie diver Brett (Langley Kirkwood) is hired by a Rasta-drug dealer to accompany his cousin “Ice” (Coolio) on a trek up the river to search for a guy named Jerry (Jaimz Woolvett) who knows the location of a cache of submerged drug money. Eventually, these worlds collide and John and his crew are taken hostage by the murderous baddies and forced to go diving for the loot or suffer the wrath of listening to Ice’s last CD. But the sinister force that gobbled up those Cajun yokels earlier is still hungry, and this fresh water bull shark’s got a hankering for some jerky jambalaya – human-style!

Sigh.
THE FINISHER:

Red Water is a made-for-TV movie (most likely the Syfy channel) and … get this … isn’t half bad. It’s not half good either, but the one half that is watchable makes for a decent viewing. Yet another shark movie that’s actually more of a treasure-hunting adventure thriller, the movie features some pretty good action sequences, a very well-done practical effect for the shark, and a few (intentional) laughs here and there. Wisely avoiding the pitfalls of a creature feature hunt-that-beast story, the movie focuses more on the dangerous trip up river with a dash of character development (a very small dash, that is) and a crime caper subplot to kill time until our toothy friend shows up and blows the roof off the joint with his gleeful voracity. I’ll also give points to the movie for coming up with a pretty cool way to do away with the creature. Let’s say that just like humans, dentists may be the shark’s natural enemy. I do have one thing I have to mention, though, and it’s something that came up while watching yesterday’s movie too. What is it with B-movie makers and their love of characters with ridiculous accents? There are at least three different stupid accents in this movie – the Rasta drug dealer guy, the fake Aussie diver, and the Cajuns. Each of them are incomprehensible and really don’t add anything to the characters beyond an opportunity for ridicule. Why do they have these characters? To enrich the tapestry of human interaction that swells into a brilliant expression of humanity that’s tragically quelled by Bruce the Urpy Shark? I don’t get it. Anyway, Red Water certainly isn't atrocious, has some fairly likable characters, and a cool shark. Plus you get to see Coolio get swallowed whole for the sake of his overdue phone bill.

SHARKS IN VENICE (2008)

WHAT THE MONSTERS TAUGHT ME: Where’s your shark messiah now, Stephen Baldwin? Meaaah!

THE CARD:

Stephen the B-Movie Actor (the ‘B’ is for Born Again), Geico Caveman: Mafia Villain, thatsa spicy grease-a-ball henchmen, one silly accent short of a Peter Sellers fan convention, all the Italian authenticity of the Olive Garden, locations by the Vegas Venetian, and a scrumptious sharky abondanza!

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

David Franks (Stephen Baldwin) is some kind of professor/smart guy/dude in a lab coat whose father has vanished in Venice while treasure hunting for sketchy scuzzball Don Clemenza (Giacomo Gonnella). Upon receiving the news, he rushes to Italy to search for him with his amply bosomed fiancée Laura (Vanessa Johansson) in tow. He uncovers a web of lies surrounding his father’s disappearance as the police appear to be covering something up. Turns out Dad was killed by a shark that is prowling the canals of this ancient city and if news about his death made the papers, there would be a panic, economic damage, and a plunge in demand for gondolier hats. Franks learns that his father was seeking the gold, jewelry, and riches of the Medici family that has been lost for centuries. Cue historical flashback with silly narration and overblown choir orchestration. He is then strong-armed into helping mobster Clemenza locate the treasure that supposedly lies somewhere beneath the canals. His minions kidnap Laura and hold her ransom until he complies and Clemenza reveals that the sharks were bred by him to use as “watchdogs” against people trying to seek the fortune. Meanwhile, the sharks are enjoying an unlimited Italian buffet to the tune of fake Dean Martin songs against poorly rendered matte paintings. With little assistance from the calzone-crunching cops, Franks has to take on Clemenza, the stinky dangers of the Venetian sewers, and a very hungry CGI shark ready to form his own man-eating cosa nostra.

THE FINISHER:

May the Film Lord forgive me, but man do I love bad movies, and after all, monster movies are a constant revelation. The truly bad ones are the cinema version of WYSIWYG – What You Read Is What You Get. Read, as in the title. Sounding like either like an international quantum leap for shark movies or a 90s Roger Avary caper film, Sharks in Venice delivers what the title promises, albeit briefly. Yes, there are sharks. And yes, they are in Venice. The Italy one. I think. It’s also a gloriously appalling sorta/kinda monster movie meets fortune-seeking adventure. Part National Treasure, part Megashark, all baaaad. And they don’t come any more dreadful than this example of typical terribleness from the fine folks at Nu Image that probably pumps out more poopy turkeys a week than Butterball at Thanksgiving. Baldwin turns in his typical workman-like effort, borders on ridiculous, and is able to contain his facial hair for ninety minutes. Johansson’s assets prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that she is related to sister Scarlett. But it’s homicidal goon Gonnella who steals the show as the disastrously-accented bad guy whose performance approaches Roman Moroni territory. I prayed for dialogue like, “Immonna killa dose fargin sharks bastages! Son-a-ma-batches!”. With a bigger role for Gonnella, this movie may have been called Mob Goofballs in Venice. Despite the lack of sharks swallowing gondoliers (an opportunity for cinema gold wasted), Sharks in Venice is barely a monster movie, barely a caper movie, but a complete stinker for bad movie lovers who can’t get enough Goddamn shark silliness.

ONE-EYED MONSTER (2008)

WHAT THE MONSTER TAUGHT ME: Ted Bundy wasn’t the only handsome killer dick.

THE CARD:

The Clown Prince of Porking, Charles Effing Napier, The Hedgehog Not Effing, XXXombie, a short bang bus, more dorky sex jokes than an elementary school cafeteria, the greatest war story ever that doesn’t involve clowns, butter, or Bob Hope, more porno and Buffy has-beens than my hometown Dairy Queen, John Leslie’s The Thung, and a murderous wiener that's not served from a Hollywood Blvd. roach coach.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

A troupe of filmmakers and actors retreats to the mountains to film their latest sleazy epic which stars porno vets Ron (Ron Jeremy) and Veronica (Veronica Hart). The team is made up of tough guy Jonah (Jason Graham), starstruck Laura (Amber Benson), nerdy techie T.J. (Caleb Mayo), porn ingénue Lance (Bart Fletcher), asshole director Rock (John Edward Lee) and stereotypical porn chickies Wanda (Jenny Guy) and Angel (Carmen Hart). God, I can’t believe I just typed the entire cast since it won’t matter what I say or how I sum up the story because watching this wretched thing was like watching a porn without the dirty parts – you know, the parts you fast-forward through so you could get to the …um. But I digress. Just before a pivotal scene Ron has problems performing, so he goes out for a walk only to be killed by an alien lifeform which detaches his penis and takes its form with the intent to kill by nasty. Any excuse to get out of work. Veronica almost succumbs to the onslaught but barely survives. The rest of the crew isn’t so lucky as the possessed pee-pee offs each cast member in horrible ways that are best left for an entertaining evening in Tijuana. Their only salvation appears to be Mohtz (Charles Napier), a crazy mountain man who’s had prior experience dealing with veiny threats back in the ‘Nam, when fighting reanimated detached body parts meant something. But even he comes up short. Anyway, in the end Laura, Jonah, and a semi-conscious Veronica remain to face the final confrontation with the murderous member, and even your most perverted imagination won’t be able to match how things end, um … up.

THE FINISHER:

The movie is titled One Eyed Monster. It stars porno-star Ron Jeremy, a legend in dirty movies. He’s in it for about 10 minutes. It also stars Veronica Hart, another famous dirty movie star. She’s in and out of it (so to speak) for a total of maybe 20 minutes. And it’s about a penis that kills people. It appears have been filmed with a camera with lights and microphones, performed with some actors and a girl from Buffy who spoke words in between scenes of the title character performing acts of depravity unseen since my prom night. The movie is titled One Eyed Monster. Beyond that, there’s not much to say. There are no sex scenes, but there are brief shots of a woman’s bosom. The humor is comprised of sleazy low-brow sex jokes that land with a thud. On the plus side, it does have a fantastic monologue by the great Charles Napier who’s also in it briefly as well. And it has a pretty funny closing line. Come to your own conclusions based on this information. Did I mention the movie is called ONE-EYED MONSTER?

Christ.

ROGUE (2007)

WHAT THE MONSTER TAUGHT ME: I can now unequivocally add the following unholy but all-too-real creatures to my “Do Not Want List”: fire ants, snapping turtles, salt-water crocodiles, and Sarah Palin.

THE CARD:

The Alabama of Australia, the curious absence of Outback Jack, put another Fatty on the barbie, the Aussie Mike the Dog, Sam Worthless-ington, the Universal Studios Tram of Death, Gulpy the Hungry Hungry Killer Croc, and where’s Steve Irwin when you need him? Oh yeah…

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Travel blogger (that’s what they like to be called, right?) Pete (Michael Vartan) is on his newest assignment which lands him in the Northern Australian Territory to take a river tour along with a bunch of annoying tourist archetypes. You got the annoying yuppie couple, the sheepish British family, the grieving widower, the irritating fat guy, the loud fat lady, and the sexy boat captain Kate (Radha Mitchell). The river they are about to take a cruise down is known for its abundance of crocodiles and the group hopes to catch a glimpse of the elusive giant salt-water crocs, the last remnants of the age of dinosaurs. They are also some pretty mean sum bitches. The group experiences a beautiful day out on the river, enjoys the lovely canyon scenery and big ass flies, and occasionally sees a croc pop out and say, “Hi, I’d like to eat you”. Their day is briefly interrupted by Kate’s ex-boyfriend Neil (Sam Worthington) who harasses her about getting back together. She’s able to shoo him away, but something tells me we haven’t seen the last of him. At the end of the tour, the group sees a distress flare from an area that is well-known for crocodile attacks and dangerous natives. Kate decides to follow the flare, a decision that divides the group and catches the attention of a pair of gigantic and very hungry eyes prying from the depths of the river. And it ain’t Louie Anderson. A hugh-gantic salt-water crocodile attacks the boat and beaches it on a tiny island, stranding the group now fully gripped with terror. From here on out, it’s a battle between man and a creature with a killer instinct honed by 200 million years of predatory instinct. Kind of like my wedding day.

THE FINISHER:

The killer crocodile sub-genre experienced somewhat of a boon the last few years with the release of such titles as Primeval and Croc. I’m not sure what started this string of monster crocs, whether it was due to the untimely passing of Steve Irwin or just the croc’s turn to be crowned the next king of movie monsters. Regardless, compared to those two offerings, Rogue is a masterpiece of croc cinema. That’s not to say Rogue was bad – it’s definitely not. Built on solid characterizations, an eerie atmosphere and a palpable sense of primordial terror, the movie is a fulfilling and deftly produced piece of killer animal mayhem. Directed by promising Aussie Greg Mclean whose slasher/torture flick Wolf Creek was well-received, the film didn’t get a whole lot of attention during its initial release. And that’s unfortunate, because it’s really a solid work of bloody entertainment with stunning cinematography, good performances (Wolf Creek’s chilling psycho-bloke John Jarratt returns as a nerdy husband), and a gorgeously hideous monster designed by the geniuses at Weta Workshop. However, what did lack is what most good monster movies possess: a new subtext other than the obvious (man should not fuck with nature) and an insight into what makes this all-too-real monster tick. Sure, it’s giant croc that likes to eat, and sure horror movies don’t make the best biology lessons, but just a little info wouldn’t have hurt. At times it looks like chunks of narrative might have been cut out, mostly likely character stuff to explain the rift between Kate and Neil and exposition on how Pete got assigned this detail to flesh out the bitterness expressed throughout the picture. Just my guess. A solid monster movie we need to see more like, Rogue takes its time building empathy for the characters, creating tension in the unforgiving wilderness, and delivering a smackdown of a finale that will leave lesser horror fans gasping for air.

THE MONSTER THAT CHALLENGED THE WORLD (1957)

WHAT THE MONSTER TAUGHT ME: Never use an earthquake as an alarm clock.

THE CARD:

The gaseous, toxic, and stupid tourist-friendly Salton Sea, a 50s Whore Scarf, cocky scuba divers, disobedient ladybugs, an eggy Village Rover, Commander Sideshow Bob, U.S. Navy: Secretion Hunters, an instructional film on mollusk farts, worst museum archivist ever, a bunny-loving little girl as the true harbinger of Doomsday, and Release the Goopy Kraken!

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Yet again, the U.S. Navy is sticking its nose into where it’s not wanted. This time it’s nowhere near the Persian Gulf or Putin’s swimming pool, but rather a prehistoric underwater nest deep in the Salton Sea in Southern California. And it’s precisely this Naval snooping that results in the disappearance of a sailor during a routine patrol. The new stern base Commander Twillinger (Tim Holt) demands an immediate investigation, suspecting the sailor’s gone AWOL. Meanwhile, scientist Dr. Rogers (Hans Conried) is detecting odd activity in the sea following a moderate earthquake and suspects that the seismic activity may be linked to the missing sailor. But it isn’t until a local teen trollop and another sailor disappear that the Commander is convinced that Rogers may be on to something. A diving team finds the lovers’ remains near a fissure in the deepest part of the sea where a giant mollusk has awakened with a taste for these new fangled humans. The team manages to blind the creature but steal its young still in egg form for further study. But Monster Movie Rule #999 states quite clearly: never mess with a humongous ancient Lovecraftian snail’s kids! And not even a boiling pot, a million yards of Saran wrap, and a thousand ticked-off seamen will be able to stop the vengeance of a gassy mollusk from one million B.C.!

THE FINISHER:

The Monster That Challenged the World was mostly filmed in the Salton Sea, one of the bleakest, most barren, and most fascinating geographical oddities in the U.S. Basically a huge salt lake in the middle of the desert in Southern California, it started as small lake and grew after runoff from the nearby Colorado River swelled its volume to sea-like proportions in the early 20th century. I have been there, and trust me, it is a truly creepy place. No more a haven for tourists, the place reeks of the dead, with blanched trees sticking out of swampy waters, ruins of most likely haunted resorts, and the ambiance of a post-apocalyptic water park - perfect for an old fashioned monster movie. Read more about the Salton Sea here, but for additional Salton Sea information do not watch this. But during the filming of The Monster That Challenged the World, the Salton Sea was fairly hopping with tourists, fishing, and research, so unfortunately the eerie desolation of the area today was not available for the makers to exploit. Regardless, most of the movie is fairly standard 50s sci-fi schlock, competently if unremarkably accomplished with probably too many diving sequences than I usually care for. The performances are fine, although the underrated Conried is particularly great as the inquisitive Rogers, atomic scientist and mollusk expert. But the real stand-out in the film is the monster itself.

Heeeeeerrrreeee'ssss Mollusky!

This creature is a large-scale puppet with basic animatronics. SFX folks out there reading this could probably articulate it better than I can, but that is the basic description. But the thing is pretty darned sophisticated and scary and I was blown away by the level of detail and horrific design. Although you have to wait about seventy minutes for its battle in the finale, it is well worth the wait as the creature hatches and seeks out the Commander's new squeeze and her petulant daughter. The Monster That Challenged the World is a capable sci-fi/horror offering, perfect for a rainy afternoon or day at the nuked beaches of the spooky Salton Sea. But the title is certainly misleading. It was more like the Monster that challenged El Centro, or the Monster that challenged Calexico.

Maybe Blythe.

THE MYSTERIANS (1959)

WHAT THE MONSTERS TAUGHT ME: If you’re a robot with a locust head, death ray eyes, pointy beak, and shelf-butt, then you’re going to get treated like a robot with a locust head, death ray eyes, pointy beak, and shelf-butt.

THE CARD:

The Japompadour, Hopalong Yakamoto, the BMX Bandits from the Dark Side of the Moon, Battle of Poon Tang Hill, Mogera: the Rodney Dangerfield of Japanese Monsters, a silly accent translator, a guarantee you’ll cry more than 96 tears, and timeless, sagely advice: “It is cold inside, so please wear a cape!”.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

A Japanese village is laid to waste by an unseen force and the military and its scientists are called into action. Meanwhile, sullen astronomer Shiraishi (Yumi Shirakawa) has foreseen an invasion by lifeforms from the planet Mysteriod, but no one – not even his mentor Dr. Adachi (Takashi Shimura) or best friend Atsumi (Kenjii Sahara) – believe him. Well, believe this, suckers – Mogera the badass evil robot with death rays for peepers emerges from a mountainside and starts picking off Japanese soldiers like fat guys at Hometown Buffet.

Mogera: the Tubby Kaiju.

As luck would have it, the Mogster wasn’t designed to cross bridges so he’s made toast after two minutes of mayhem. But the real menace soon shows its face as The Mysterians from the planet Mysteriod in their Mysterio-mobile and loud Mystereo invade rural Japan with an ultimatum for Earth: give us what we want or you’ll get more Mogera buffoonery to laugh at. Oh yeah, and we’ll destroy all your cities with our Hoover vacuum motor/horrible radiation weapon. All the caped and snazzy-helmeted Mysterians want is a few acres of real estate to repopulate their dying race, some compassion and understanding, and ALL OUR WOMEN! Well, goshdarn it, the nations of the world unite against this cosmic cock-block and unleashes all our military hell machines upon the Mysterians but are no match for their sophisticated cartoon rays. But plucky Shiraishi manages to infiltrate our horndog enemy while Atsume and Dr. Adachi confer with the world’s greatest scientists to conclude that blowing the crap out of the Mysterians is the only way to stop the Earth from becoming a huge sausage fest.

THE FINISHER:

The Mysterians is goofy sci-fi fun, a quick-paced romp with a militaristic theme that feels like a cornball comic book ideally suited for a sugary-cereal packed Saturday morning. The Mysterians outfits are pretty damned cool for those with ultra-cheesy taste. And if you’re not ultra-cheesy, what the hell are you doing reading Tremendo Time? Anyway the effects are about what you’d expect for an early period Japanese monster movie but the model work (tanks, airships, saucers, dopey Mogera) by Eiji Tsuburaya is typically outstanding. The Mysterians is a gift from heaven for monster movie fans, but elitist types (you know who you are) might enjoy it too if they can take that stick out of their butts for ninety minutes.

Master filmmaker Akira Kurosawa and The Mysterians director Ishiro Honda were lifetime friends. They are two great artists who could have not have had more dissimilar career paths.

Kurosawa in the world of film art and visceral drama, Honda in the world of fantasy and science fiction. Both men are gone now, leaving a legacy of cinematic achievements that should never be forgotten. In my version of film geek heaven, I can imagine the following conversation taking place.

HONDA: Good morning, Akira-san!

KUROSAWA: Hello, Ishiro-san.

HONDA: Hey, I saw you at the chocolate waterfall earlier talking to Stanley, Alfred, and Ingmar. What was that all about?

KUROSAWA: Well, I am working on a novel and I’m struggling with the existential dilemma of a disillusioned samurai who forsook his family ties for a dishonorable master and seeks Zen and redemption after a life of bloodshed.

HONDA: Oh, I see.

KUROSAWA: And then there’s the script about the crumbling Japanese middle class family tortured by the dehumanization of postwar alienation, which I’m co-writing with Dostoyevsky.

HONDA: Uh huh.

KUROSAWA: And then Stanley suggested I continued to work on my Shakespeare adaptations, specifically Hamlet set during the Kamakura period.

HONDA: Um, yeah that’s great.

KUROSAWA: And you, old friend? What are you working on?

HONDA: Well… ah it’s nothing really.

KUROSAWA: Please do tell!

HONDA: It’s, um, - SURPRISE! - a monster movie. A giant teapot from the Rings of Saturn attacks Kyoto. Earth's only salvation is that annoying kid Kenny from the Gamera movies and a giant robot bunny. Oh, and the teapot’s got tentacles.

KUROSAWA: …

HONDA: Yeah, go ahead and laugh.

KUROSAWA: (SNIFFS) Ishiro-san, don’t ever change!

PIÑATA: SURVIVAL ISLAND (2002)

WHAT THE MONSTER TAUGHT ME: Typically, piñatas are meant to be filled with candy and not the tormented souls of the damned.

THE CARD:

The Lost Tribe of Manboobs, Xander the Loxer, My Name is Jaime and I’m a D-Celebrity - Get me the hell out of this movie!, Ensign Kim still completely useless, more insults about Mexicans than a Minuteman picnic, liberal Predator theme lifting, a truly tasteless lynching joke, the worst piñata since my Dame Edna-themed 9th birthday party, Howard the Duck slummin’ it, and Hell Comes to Candyland.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

It’s Cinco de Mayo and you know what that means: time for marine biologists to paaarrrrtaaayyyy! Yeah, well this certain group of butt-dumb Bio majors and frat douches pick the wrong the island to slam tequila and make jokes about tacos. Led by goofy Kyle (Nicholas Brendon) and smoking hot Tina (Jaime Pressly), this pack of drunken mischief-makers arrive on Demon Island (note to horny partiers: stay away from ANYTHING named “Demon”), home to a legend about some tubby tribe that imprisoned evil spirits inside clay piñatas. Yeah. But instead of cool Spiderman, Optimus Prime, or Rose McGowan, these piñatas are scary demons with spooky faces, sharp teeth, and intolerance for meddlin’ kids. Guffawing at silly indigenous culture, our plastered pals concoct a treasure hunt where they have to roam the island and collect as many piñatas as possible and maybe get high and bang each other every chance they get. Well, like my many Spring Break experiences, things turn ugly quick and someone ends up with their head in a lap, and not even in a good way. One of the dickhead frat guys messes around with a piñata short of putting his dick in it and releases the full terror of a bloody spade-wielding ceramic homunculus from Hell. But it will take more than a broken broom handle and your drunk uncle who can’t handle the piñata rope to control this papier-mâché rascal from claiming the candy that is your tequila-soaked innards.

THE FINISHER:

Piñata: Survival Island (aka Demon Island) has set new standards for me. One minute – 60 seconds if you are dumb - into this movie I was praying for an unbridled massacre of genocidal proportions to be unleashed upon these irritating characters. That’s gotta be a record. Okay, so you got a giant piñata hunting down stupid teens. Great. Some goofy gore, bad acting, and awful cheeseball effects. Good times for us bad movie lovers. We all laugh at the stupid dialogue and enjoy a chuckle at the poorly rendered CGI and laughable puppetry effects. Everything is fine and bad in B-movie Land. But this is where your pal El Tremendo pulls out his Typical Man card with his major complaint about the movie. Christ Almighty, you got a pre-My Name is Earl Jamie Pressly and she doesn’t even take her top off? Ridiculous! Speaking of which, Jamie is ludicrously hot. The movie also boasts two other former Playboy playmates who don’t even so much as expose their bellybutton. Come on, makers of piñata whoever the hell you are, what were you thinking? Brain smashing by a ceramic puppet = yes. Boobies = no? Huh? What a disgrace to the bulge-less pants of your fans and loyal viewers. Aside from this miscarriage of justice, Piñata: Survival Island isn’t very good, but good enough for a few chuckles with friends. That is, if your friends are straight women, Norcal wimps, or castrados.