Friday, October 31, 2008


On Halloween night, my boo love gave to me ... thirty-one has-been overrated rock stars almost buried by this movie and later resurrected by Goddamn reality TV twenty five years later!


The guy who will eternally be known as Skippy, Rock On: The Book, pale saggy white boy ass, Judas Priest: The Calendar, Large Marge, Gene Simmons: The Demon Marketer, Mom aerobics, Ozzy at the height of his coherence, 80s That Guy Bully Who's Not Billy Zabka, an Untouchable director, a killer toilet, very little trick-or-treating and too much crappy sheet metal.

More details here.


Eddie (aka “Ragman”) is an awkward teenage dweeb obsessed with heavy metal who's tormented by the popular kids at school. Eddie's idol is a proto-Marylin Manson named Sammi Curr who went to his high school and later became a rock superstar. When Curr perishes in a hotel fire, Eddie goes into a tailspin of despair, rage, and overacting. His only friend is local DJ Nuke (Gene Simmons) who for some reason gives him Curr's very last recording: a demonic record that when played backwards grants Eddie renewed confidence and evil powers. He gets even with his buff school tormentors and lovely schoolgirl Leslie begins to take notice. Eddie experiments with the recording some more and discovers that he can communicate with the spirit of Curr through messing around with his Technics turntable. Meanwhile, the bullies want payback and kick Skippy's, uh I mean Eddie's ass some more, but they soon discover that Eddie has a horrific, invisible protector at his side. His newfound confidence soon degenerates into arrogance alienating Leslie and his nerdy friend Robert. As a peace offering, he makes a special Sammi Curr mix-tape for his main bully. The tape starts circulating and results in a copyright infringement that kills! Things get out of control, innocent people start dying, and Curr resurrects from the dead with his S&M chains, bloodcurdling voice, big poofy hair, and the power to command electricity (but not acting, I'm afraid). He instructs Eddie to do this bidding, but when he refuses, the full awesome power of shitty music is released upon the town that shunned Alice Cooper, uh I mean Sammi Curr!


Trick or Treat is another 80s teen horror flick that wallowed in VHS obscurity for sixteen years. If you were into heavy metal like I was back then, you will probably appreciate this movie and look back with blissful studded-wristbanded nostalgia. If you didn't like heavy metal or cheesy horror movies for that matter, you will probably turn this thing off after twenty minutes. Featuring over-the-hill rockers Gene Simmons and Ozzy Osbourne and Family Ties' Marc Price, the movie is wildly bad, but riotously fun. I was surprised at how much I actually enjoyed it. Although there aren't many frightful moments, scary jolts, or gory sequences, the movie's sense of humor, lack of self-awareness, and mind-numbing camp value deserves a recommendation. This movie was released during the height of the controversy about violent heavy metal music and its effect on teens, when the Gores occupied themselves by blaming Judas Priest for juvenile delinquency in Congress hearings and not scaring the shit out of us about 90-degree days and inventing the Internet. In retrospect, heavy metal should have launched a thousand Columbines, but it more than likely just gave birth to a couple million pot-bellied losers and thousands of homosexuals. I plead the former. Trick or Treat touches upon this hysteria of the time in amusing ways, especially in Ozzy's cameo. The movie does take a while to get going and it's not until Curr's resurrection when he zings teens with his electric cock/guitar of death that the real fun is unleashed. Besides a serious lack of (snicker) logic and a slow start, the movie begs you to raise your finger horns, turn up your Fastway LP, and chuckle your ass off as you gaze into the sad, missed past of 80s yesteryear. Trick or Treat turns out to be more of a treat than a flaming bag of dogshit at your door. Although, that's pretty fucking funny too.


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