Rocco Karega, Theresa Fenneaux, Ray Klein, Duncan Larson, Tony Zotta, Cameron Mitchell, a script (allegedly), law enforcement tips from the pits of Hell, the aesthetic integrity of Grandpa's VHS camera, and a huge headache for your ol’ movie pal El Tremendo.
More details here.
[DEEP BREATH] Buckle up, friends, I'm going to try my best with this.
So a crazy doctor (Mitchell) introduces our tale, mumbles some horseshit about monsters and psychiatry, and smokes a ton of cigs.
|WILL CAMEO FOR FOOD|
We're then introduced to former Probation Officer and mental patient Edward (Karega). He shares a hotel room with a guy who really needs to do some sit-ups.
|Pasty manboobs. What a treat!|
And yes, that screenshot above is an actual shot in the film where entire lines of dialogue are taking place for a very, very, very, very long time. Some stuff happens, I think? Then a few minutes later we n meet this guy, who is a "cop".
|Introducing Junkyard David Letterman.|
For some reason, this guy is sitting on a nearby desk and is being kinda rude:
We learn that before his time in the mental hospital, Edward was shot in a drive-by and while being treated, he received a blood transfusion. Somehow the transfusion's side effects transformed him into a hideous werewolf-style costume-store demon who hunts down gang-bangers and various other armed thugs.
Meanwhile a guy with a cheesy German accent named Horst (Larson) with the code-name Bloodhound appears and we learn he's an Interpol agent hunting down those afflicted with murderous impulses like Edward. He'd get right to the demon hunting but he's got a delicate tummy.
|"Aw geez, I just read page 4 of the script!"|
Edward turns to his psychiatrist (?) for help because he feels like he can’t make positive change in the community, you know like any socially-conscious demon-possessed thug-chomping vigilante should.
|"Well, at least you're not Tony Soprano."|
I couldn't tell you what happens next because I couldn't make heads or tails of it. But eventually some cops finally go after Edward, who's now in full demonic bloody vengeance form.
|Graduates of the Mark Furman School of Dramatic Arts|
And just like Demon Cop himself, you'll shed a tear when this shitfest is finally over.
|"Now I know why that Indian guy cries at garbage."|
Those of you following along this merry #31DaysOfHalloween 2018 may remember I mentioned in my The Dwelling post that the past few Halloweens have resulted in starts and stops. And you may also recall a certain movie killed my month-long marathon of horror, on the second day no less, back in 2015. Said movie very nearly killed my enthusiasm for horror movies, movies in general, and maybe solid foods. That movie is 1990’s Demon Cop, a heinous assault on your senses and a colossal exercise in incompetence. It defeated me then, but three years later and I’m back, baby. So I re-watched this thing with the intent of finally conquering its soul-sucking shot-on-VHS out-of-focus ineptitude.
Before I begin, let’s step back a bit. Since I started this site back in 2008, I have witnessed cinematic epics encompassing the likes of shit monsters, aroused giant apes, killer wrestlers, non-tiki torch bearing undead Nazis, man-eating but fuel-efficient hybrids, nummy-nummy brains, sentient anatomy dummies, homicidal dolls, Charlie Sheen, and to quote the great Winston Zeddmore shit that would make you turn white. So when I first came across this title, I was pretty pleased to find a horrific [BLANK]-COP movie I haven’t seen that wasn’t Maniac, Psycho, or Kindergarten. But nothing could have prepared me for the brain melt that is Demon Cop, a piecemeal “movie” that seems to be comprised of four other movies: an amateurish police procedural; an angry African-American-social-justice themed student film, a shot-on-home-video conspiracy thriller, and lastly, the filmmaker’s career suicide note.
I have to be honest with you, even after a second viewing I still don’t know what the fuck is going on. This is pretty much all I gathered: the demon’s thirst for vengeance is transferred by blood, as we discover in lengthy narrated exposition which clumsily and lazily attempts an AIDS subtext. Bad movie maestro Fred Olen Ray apparently got his mitts on this film at some point, tried to make sense of it for a quick and dirty DTV release, and tacked on the Tales from the Crypt style bookends featuring the Mitchell character. Holes in the plot, if it indeed a plot exists, are smoothed over by introducing new characters whose sole purpose is to explain how everything ties together but only adds additional fatty layers of nonsense. The movie is a Hallmark Store of flubbed lines. I suspect the director never once said “Cut! OK, let’s do that again.” Characters exchange dialogue with their backs to the camera in obviously dubbed scenes. But you know what? They even flub the lines in the FUCKING DUBBING. Also, the demon is no cop. He’s a former Probation Officer who got carted off to the funny farm. There is no infernal policing at all. This may be the first movie made from found footage, as in someone found some random film floating on the crapper. Guys, this thing is bad.
But you didn’t defeat me, oh mighty Demon Cop. You renewed my vigor for more bad movie mayhem! You make me hunger for the next brutal piece of shit that forces me to question what I’m doing with my life! You did not kill the #31DaysOfHalloween! But goddamn it, you sure did put a dent in it.
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