DEATH SHIP (1980)

THE CARD:

George “Fear Admiral” Kennedy, Richard “Spook Deck Pappy” Crenna, Nick “Stabbin’ Boy” Mancuso, Sally Ann “Worst Mate” Howes, Kate “Really Old Spice” Reid, Victoria “All Hands On Boob” Burgoyne and Saul “Bad Nautical Pun” Rubinek.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

The 1970s were to Cruise Ships as Jimmie “J.J.” Walker was to comedy.  They existed.  And aboard a very 70s-ish cruise liner is Captain Ashland (Kennedy) who is about to retire as captain of the particularly non-dyno-mite ship.  He’s also quite bitter about handing over the reins to younger, superiorly bearded Trevor Marshall (Crenna) who’s brought his wife Margaret (Howes) and young family aboard.  Never quite fitting in with his fun-loving, buffet-gorging passengers, Ashland reflects resentfully on the dying art of life on the high seas.  

He also hires chimps on his crew. So progressive.

While a party rages in the bingo hall/ballroom, a mysterious vessel under the power of unseen forces is on a collision course with the ship.  Despite the crew’s valiant efforts, the cruise liner is sunk when the ship rams into the lower decks where apparently all the stock footage is stored.  The next day, a raft carrying Marshall’s family, First Mate Nick (Mancuso), his sultry girlfriend Lori (Burgoyne), lounge singer Jackie (Rubinek), elderly passenger Sylvia (Reid), and the fished-out Ashland encounters the eerie ship in open water.

Unholy Ship!

The survivors board the ship but find no one and nothing but Nazi paraphernalia, eerie World War II-era music resounding in the hull, and peppermint candy that causes fatal acne.  When Jackie is scrimshawed* to Davy Jone’s Locker unceremoniously before he even has the chance to be annoying, the gang heads indoors for safety.  Poor schmucks.  Almost immediately, whatever sinister power is commandeering the ship also takes control of Ashland who fantasizes about choking sailors and descends into madness, delusion, and the constant need to lie down.

“I’ll just lie here and wait for the Zuckers’ callback.”

While the survivors start to drop faster than pants at a Tailhook convention**, Marshall and Nick discover the ship was used for brutal interrogation by the Nazis, operates on human blood and could be haunted by the victims and torturers alike.  

Unfortunately, bloodbaths do not exfoliate.

No evil seamen has caused this much havoc since Robert Kardashian.  Needless to say, it’s time to abandon the fuck off the Death Ship.

*Yeah, I don’t what it means either.

**NOTE: Tremendo Time is committed to references older than your Grandpa’s aftershave.

THE FINISHER:

I remember seeing the Death Ship VHS box many times during trips to the video store in years past.  I always thought it looked cheesy so I never picked it up.  A haunted boat that kills people?  “Guffaw!” said young, stupid El Tremendo.  Recently, after recalling ship-related horror movies like Triangle, Ghost Ship, and The Rig, I remembered Death Ship and it turns out my 1988 judgment of that video cover was hasty.  While it takes its time getting there, the movie is an eerie, disturbing ride.  The rusty, oily, claustrophobic atmospheric sets in slowly but once the mayhem begins, the feeling of an inescapable almost cosmic doom grabs hold.  

The Nazi Victims were hung in the galley with care…

I don’t know, there’s something about 70s and 80s movies that made your skin crawl and increased your chances to look away or at least leave the room for a minute.  It’s an indescribable, palpable feeling that’s missing in most horror movies of the last twenty years.  Could it be that current viewers are too conscious that they’re watching a horror movie and have come to expect the scares and know the rules?  Are advances in technology and aesthetics diluting the ability to cinematically terrorize?  It’s not that Death Ship was any more innovative or competent than any of its contemporaries or descendants (it’s still kinda silly in parts), it just has this atmosphere unique to its time that was really effective in conveying disaster and fatal destiny.  Death Ship is an underrated hallmark in the nautical horror tradition, and should you see it drop anchor near you, don’t be young and stupid and miss it.

JACK-O (1995)

THE CARD:

Linnea “Nude-O” Quigley, Rebecca “Ditzy Mom-O” Wicks, Gary “Bore-O” Doles, Ryan “The Director’s Kid-O” Latshaw, Catherine “Spooky Chick-O” Walsh, Michael “Guido-O” Walsh, Cameron “Drunk-O” Mitchell, John “Dead Drunk-O” Carradine, Brinke “Cameo-O” Stevens, and not a sequined glove in sight.

More details here.

THE ANGLE: 

Back in the olden days, according to some crazy fat guy talking into fire, an evil old man with mystical powers (Carradine) put a curse upon his death on the town that sentenced him to eternal damnation.

“Oh Satan, where’s my tapioca?”

We learn that longtime residents of the town, the Kelly family, were instrumental in bringing the evil man to justice using a crucifix made from a special tree.  (Note: I wasn't paying attention as to why the tree is special. Please forgive me. PLEASE!) We flash forward to today (well, 1993-ish) and young Sean Kelly (Latshaw) is having bad dreams about the old man while a creepy figure stalks him with a rusty scythe.  

Humanity’s last hope, or just another atomic wedgie victim?

Meanwhile, the mysterious Vivian (Walsh) arrives in town and seeks out the Kelly family to warn them of impending doom on Halloween night while constantly groping Sean.  We learn that Vivian is a descendant of the old man and she tells Dad Kelly (Coles) and Mom Kelly (Wicks) the legend of Jack-O, the suspenders-wearing demon from Hell with a pumpkin for a head who is under the control of her long-dead ancestor.

Jack-O is Wack-O

So Jack-O is stupidly resurrected from the grave by some Hamms Light-drinking 30-year old teens which triggers his blood-spattered, autumn-potpourri scented vengeance on the Kelly family, that is if he can get past their spooky-looking Mom.

“Mommy needs her medicine now, dear.”

Jack-O slices and dices his way through the town’s nerdy and annoying inhabitants while the Kellys proceed with their tradition of a homemade spook house for Halloween where the holiday-obsessed folks hand out candy and pull dimestore pranks on trick-or-treaters.  They hire babysitter Carolyn (Quigley) to watch the creeped-out Sean for no other reason than to have a boobilicious showering scene. 

Linnea makes me Quigley!

Our fruit/vegetable villain Jack-O then proceeds to weed out the town including Carolyn’s scuzzy sister, her Discount Vinnie Barbarino boyfriend, and a rude TV-dinner-loving, child-hating grocer.  In the final showdown Jack-O plows his way to the Kelly’s to play Halloween games like Apple Dunking, Candy Swaps, and Gravity-Defying Intestinal Impalement.

“Hey, I wanted a Rolo!” 

THE FINISHER:

How can you resist a Halloween slasher flick with a pumpkin-headed killer offing annoying teens, pert scream queens, and the director’s relatives?  Well, it’s easy if you try.  But I didn’t so I watched Jack-O, a decrepitly cheap holiday scare fest from renowned, infamous, and partially devoured bad movie producer Fred Olen Ray.  About the only things I can suggest were even remotely good were Jack-O’s kinda cool-in-a-Kmart kinda way design, the main kid who was a pretty decent little actor, and of course Leanna’s nudie butt scrub.  In fact, the entire film seems to orbit that one scene while loading up the star cannon with Carradine, Stevens, and Mitchell (who plays horror host Dr. Cadaver for ten seconds) and throwing in a squirt gun of strawberry jam for blood effects.  The masterful touch of the immortal Fred Olen Effing Ray.  Unreleased until two years after Mitchell’s death (this was his last appearance) and made in the early 90s but feeling very mid-80s, Jack-O is a slight sweet in your trick-or-treat bag, somewhere between Grandma’s Circus Peanuts and that could-be-taffy from the weirdo bachelor down the block who watches too many horror movies. Ahem.

Happy Jack-O-Ween!

CAMPFIRE TALES (1991)

THE CARD:

Robin “Who?” Roberts, Tres “No Clue” Holton, Courtney “Eh?” Ballard, H. Ray “Looks Familiar” York, Barbara “You know, from that Thing” Jackson, Josh “Some Guy, Always Wore a Shirt” Craig, Lawrence E. “The Other Guy from that Other Thing” Campbell, Harold “Passed his Acting Class” Odom, William “Looks like Mike” Cooke, and Gunnar “Holy Shit, It’s Leatherface!” Hansen.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Three boys camping in the woods are settling in for the night but are soon disturbed by a wandering bearded stranger (Hansen) who asks the boys for a few minutes by the fire.  In exchange he offers to regale them with four spooky tales of the macabre that may or may not have to do with chili made of human.

Your host, Wolfman Gunnar

In “The Hook”, the classic urban legend of the hook-handed killer on the loose stalking couples on Lovers’ Lane is retold with a twist which involves an exceedingly asshole-ish boyfriend, his tomboy girlfriend who is reluctant to put out, and her family's poorly lit driveway.

A-boo!

In “Overtoke” a couple of fun-seeking hoser potheads seek the ultimate high.  But with funds dwindling and the gas tank running dry, they don't have much luck.  Fortunately, they happen across a peculiar dope dealer selling cheap weed at bottom basement prices.  Unfortunately, the weed has some unlucky side effects other than rampant Ding-Dong gorging.

Nancy Reagan was right!

In “The Fright Before Xmas” a failed spa owner deeply in debt returns home for the holidays only to complain about his waning Yuppie lifestyle, spit cookies, and cruelly off his elderly Mom.  Later, his nephew and niece, unaware of the grammatricide, inform their killer Unc that there is both a Good Santa and a Bad Santa which I hope to dear God doesn’t mean I’ll have to see Billy Bob Thornton’s ass again.  Nonetheless, a visit from a grumpy St. Nick to spread bad will on earth is forewarned on the kids’ X-mas present:

This move would never fly on Words with Friends.

In the morning, the family is treated with the gift that keeps on giving: permanent holiday-related psychological scarring.

"Billy Bob's ass...so saggy, so so saggy..."

In the last tale, “Skull & Crossbones”, Captain Plantain (Campbell) washes up on a deserted island after ditching his ship during a storm.  Along with his cabin boy (Cooke) who he abuses mercilessly, he searches for his treasure while eerie things follow him in the woods and a mysterious inhabitant of the island (Odom) calls to him by name and knows his deep dark secret.  This spooky saga is a tale of intrigue, betrayal, deceit, and murder on the high seas.  But best of all it’s got PIRATE ZOMBIES!

Avast ye brains, matey!

THE FINISHER:

I like a good horror anthology film because regardless of its budget or quality, there’s almost always at least one good story to be found, from the creepy ventriloquist tale in Dead of Night to the Zuni fetish doll story in Trilogy of Terror to the Tazmanian Devil segment in Creepshow amongst many others.  The low budget Campfire Tales is no exception.  The first two stories don’t serve have much of a point at all and merely warm up the proceedings and offer a chuckle and a slimy gross-out or two.  "The Fright Before Xmas" picks up the action better with a creepy Claus and a very deserved kill.  But the standout of the movie is the final story, “Skull & Crossbones” which I think is so good it should *perish the thought* be remade.  Take the silly over-produced ridiculousness of the Pirates of the Caribbean to the trash can and make a gritty horror tale with pirates, voodoo-zombies, black magic, and an existential mystery.  Far more ambitious that the first three segments, “Skull & Crossbones” features simple but effectual zombie effects, good acting, decent dialogue, and a nice twisted ending.  Cheap but vastly entertaining, Campfire Tales is a solid bad movie night candidate with a gem mixed in with largely forgettable crap.

We’ll always have PIRATE ZOMBIES

PSYCHO COP (1989)

THE CARD:

Bobby Ray “Dumb Teen Genocide” Shafer, Palmer Lee “Impersonating a Laura Strode” Todd, Jeff “Bland Larceny” Qualle, Cindy “Manchild Abuse” Guyer, Dan “Driving while Stupid” Campbell, and Linda “Bad Acting without a License” West.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

A police officer (Shafer, the future Bob Vance, Vance Refrigeration) prepares for his day doing what every good cop does in the morning: shine those boots, polish that badge, load that pistol, and bathe in the blood of the innocent.

“We’re all out of Calgon!” (Sorry, but El T was alive in the 70s).

But instead of protecting and serving, this cop is projecting knives and serving suffering as he roams the countryside offing innocent citizens, which when you think about it is only a few notches away from speed traps.  Offering his victims to Satan, the Psycho Cop stalks three fun-loving teen couples out for a weekend of partying in a quaint rental home.

Poor 80s dry-look dopes.

The three couples, who apparently detest each other, spend most of their time drinking skunk beer, bickering about absolutely nothing, getting disturbed by the sound of wood chopping, and deciphering Satanic omens out of missing hairbrushes and spilled soup.  They guys are all annoying doofs begging for a slow death by billy club.  And if you close your eyes during the girls’ dialogue, you will hear every female character from any Peanuts special.  No wonder this cop went psycho.

Officer Not Friendly. Nope, not friendly at all.

So Mr. P. Cop stalks these morons and offs them one by one, offering a brand of Hellish Justice for crimes known only in his maniacal mind.

Well, maybe Career Suicide

THE FINISHER:

OK, so killer cop movies instantly recalls Maniac Cop, right?  Yeah, well that Lustig classic has got nothing on this poor, dull, snoozefest which looks like it may have been literally shot in a weekend.  But it’s not without its uniqueness and may still appeal to bad movie masochists.  The characters/victims completely freak out for any reason.  A misplaced hairbrush is somehow a practical joke. Spilled soup is a national emergency.  Missing beer spells the End Times (yes, alcoholics maybe it does).  A chased character falls and screams “Ow, my ribs!” which was obviously dubbed.  Blunt logs cut through people like butter.  And Shafer, who is actually pretty hilarious as the robotic Psycho Cop, spews Krueger-esque kill quips that go over about as well as a turd in a jail cell.

Better titles would have been The Batshit Sheriff, The Devil’s Deputy, The Cuckoo Constable.   

Even when you think about it in respective terms, this late 80s slasher feels dated and eight years too late and probably would have fared better during the slasher glut earlier in that decade.  Accented with fairly obvious references to Halloween, Terminator, and Nightmare on Elm Street, the movie isn’t worth the time to seek out even for the most hardcore of 80s slasher completists (although there was a sequel!).

BLUE MONKEY (1987)

THE CARD:

Steve “Azure Ape” Railsback, Gwynyth “Cobalt Chimp” Walsh, Don “Ultramarine Orangutan” Lake, John “Glaucous Gorilla” Vernon, Joe “Prussian Gibbon” Flaherty, Robin “Baby Blue Bonobo” Duke, and Sarah “Majorelle Macaque” Polley.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

An old man visiting an old lady in her greenhouse is bitten by a bug when he touches a peculiar plant.  He chokes, passes out, and is soon rushed to the emergency room where he spits out a slimey worm.  His attending physician Dr. Carson (Walsh) is disturbed when his ailment soon spreads to anyone who was near him, causing alarm in the hospital and nervous tie-wringing from bad publicity-phobic administrator Mr. Levering (Vernon).  They isolate the worm for further study which is spewing green goo at an alarming rate.

Feel free to insert your own racist joke here.

To make matters worse a wounded cop arrives with his panicked partner Bishop (Railsback) in tow, some wisenheimer sick kids run around causing mischief, and first-time parents The Bakers (Flaherty and Duke) arrive to have their baby and crack jokes about databases and menstruation.

“We’re having an adventure, like The Goonies!”

Carson and her crew dissect the worm and a big ugly bug hatches.  They place the creature under glass but when a horny nurse and horny orderly leave the lab unattended to pursue horniness, the nosy kids innocently but stupidly feed the bug growth hormones.  When the horny ones return, they are summarily dispatched by the now big-ass ugly bug in a decidedly non-horny fashion.

Thanks for ‘roids, kids!

As the situation worsens, she calls local etymologist Elliot (Lake) to help investigate the growing infection.  Meanwhile, the government has quarantined the hospital and an ominous Disease Control-type guy has given the Army orders to shoot anyone who leaves the building.  Bishop, Carson, and Elliot hatch a plot to lure the creature into an experimental laser operation room where they hope to slice and dice it. (NOTE: if you introduce a giant space laser in the first act, you have to use the giant space laser in the third act. First rule of Cinema, my friends.)

Our intrepid heroes, oh, and a guy who looks like the Cuban military leader in Red Dawn.

Meanwhile, more and more people are dying in the hospital due to infection, the government has ordered to incinerate the hospital if the bugs cannot be stopped, and the creature has nested in the boiler room where it (Elliot identifies it as a hermaphrodite) busily hatches eggs.  With the help of the kids who know every inch of the hospital, our heroes prepare for the final showdown with the Blue Monkey, which is neither blue nor a monkey*.

THE FINISHER:

Blue Monkey is a fine, colorful, and fun homage to classic giant insect movies from the 50s mixed with 80s horror aesthetics and Canadian low-budget cinematic sensibilities (ie sorta TV-movie-ish).  Referencing everything from Them! to Aliens, the movie is an enjoyable outing balanced with scary action and comic relief.  The horror is delivered by an effective giant insect costuming and gory bug effects while the comedy comes from a Canadian heavy-hitters Flaherty and Duke (SCTV and SNL alums respectively) and the hilarious Lake (of Best in Show and Waiting for Guffman fame, amongst others), who here actually plays it rather straight but enthusiastically.  Railsback, who’s known for his angst-ridden roles in Helter Skelter and The Stunt Man, also plays it straight-faced and actually looks to want to be involved in the wacky buggy nonsense surrounding him.

Bishop’s partner's vampire family thanks him for saving Dad.

I also really dug the strong female characters, particularly Walsh who although may be aping Aliens’ Ripley at time is nonetheless a thrill to watch.  Another treat was seeing a very young Sarah Polley (Dawn of the Dead, 2004) and searching for an alleged Helen Hunt cameo (didn’t find her).

Sarah Polley. Toddler Zack Snyder nowhere in sight.

So yeah, I really enjoyed Blue Monkey. The script is hurried but plausible, wasting no time on deep characterization but peppering the dialogue with what sounds like believable scientific jargon.  The soundtrack was your typical 80s synthesizer fest (not a bad thing, in doses) and the cinematography was above par.

The director was in love with this shot.  Not bad.

Blue Monkey is a nasty little treat filled with cool monster action and light humor and good characters you kind of actually care about.  I can almost forgive the utter lack of a blue monkey.  Almost.

*I had to fast-forward through the movie again to figure out the title.  Turns out it’s a reference to brief line by one of kids who call the boogeyman “Blue Monkey”.  You can sleep now.

DEMONOID (1981)

THE CARD:

Samantha “Leggy-oid” Eggar, Stuart “Boxing Priest-oid” Whitman, Lew “Used to be on CHiPs-oid” Saunders, Roy “Token Tubby-oid” Jensen, Jose “Token Mexican Tubby-oid” Chavez, and Thing Addams.  Oid.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Pic starts promising with a couple of hooded guys chasing a comely female in a spooky cave which results in torn clothing, kicks to hooded guys’ groins, exposed nether regions, and a hand amputation.  The hoods then trap the still-moving and seemingly intelligent hand in a silver box to seal away this apparent appendage of evil.  We learn very quickly it’s evil because a half-second-long shot of a demonic figure flashes subliminally throughout the rest of the movie.

Rock on, Demonoids!

Flash forward many unknown number of years to Guanajuato, Mexico, site of a new silver mine owned by Jennifer (Eggar) and husband Mark (Jenson) who are having trouble keeping employees as the mine spooks the taco-enjoying locals who believe it to be the cursed tomb of the demon-hand.  Soon snoopy Whitey unintentionally unleashes the demon hand which takes possession of all who touch it, granting them incredible strength and will to commit evil.  

Smooth as a baby demonoid's bottom.

The hand takes control of Mark who then blows up the mine, sealing it forever while killing several workers.  He disappears and Jennifer embarks on a worldwide search for him which eventually leads her to Los Angeles, the home of immoral body parts.  There she meets boxer-blacksmith-priest Father Cunningham (Whitman) who knows Mark’s whereabouts but guffaws this silly evil hand nonsense.

Give me five, brotha!

That is, until the evil hand emerges from Mark’s paupers grave, takes possession of a few folks who get their hands cut-off in mild to outrageous ways, from cauterizer to freight train.  Jennifer has learned that the hand is seeking her out for reasons never explained and Father C has to become strong and confront his weakening faith, just like every horror movie priest is mandated to do.  Fortunately, Father C is a blacksmith of some type (it’s never really explained either) which sets up an excuse to use a blowtorch in the final act.  And in the end we learn that when you talk to the hand, it sometimes talks back. 

THE FINISHER:

Demonoid (aka Messenger of Death and The Devil’s Hand) plays out like a macabre body part shock show with 70s TV movie aesthetics and a few unintentional laugh out loud attempts at horror.  But the real terror is seeing the poor bewildered faces of Eggar and Whitman trying to keep a straight face through this film.

"Pssst...Why 'Demonoid'?"

Whitman’s accent subtly shifts between Irish and American but fortunately he appears quite sober throughout the picture.  Eggar’s presence pretty much serves to class up the joint, but little else. Russ Meyer legend Haji turns in a small role as a vengeful gambler’s girlfriend who gets a full face of evil hand.

 "Russ, please return my calls!" (Muffled)

Apparently, the movie was filmed before Oliver Stone’s body part flick The Hand but sat around waiting to be released in the midst of a mini-living-evil-hand craze that I don’t remember happening at all.  Demonoid is possibly one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen: slow, abjectly cheap, poorly lit, and nonsensical to the point of absurdity, riddled with pointless …

THUNDERCRACK!!!

On second thought: best movie ever!

BLOOD HARVEST (1987)

THE CARD:

“Not So” Tiny Tim, Itonia “Beanstalk Swank” Salchek, Dean “The Milquetoast Maniac” West, Lori “Hang Her Boobies High” Minetti, Frank “Sheriff Useless” Benson, Peter “I was young, I needed the money” Krause, and the Disturbing Absence of a Ukulele.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Jill (Salchek) returns to her quaint Wisconsin hometown from college only to find it in economic shambles. Her banker-father has foreclosed on many of the farmer-neighbors’ homes and her family has become a social pariah. 

Matters worsen when Jill discovers that her parents are missing and the local Sheriff (Benson) seems more interested in softball and mugging at the camera than finding her folks. 

Just part of the rich tapestry of cheeseheads to be found in Blood Harvest

Adding to her terror is wordy but efficient phone threats (“Fuck you, bitch!”), misspelled blood red graffiti on her house, and gold and green dummies hung in effigy to protest her greedy Pops.  Enter childhood friend Gary (West) and his weirdo former-circus clown brother Mervo (Tim) to save day.

Tiptoe through my nightmares.

Unfortunately Gary, who’s crushed on human-stick figure Jill for years, becomes a little upset when Jill announces she has a boyfriend, 80s cheeseball Tom Cruise wannabe Scott (Krause of TV’s Six Feet Under and Parenthood) who unexpectedly shows up so we can have a nude scene.  The love triangle that ensues hampers the investigation into the disappearance and the identity of Jill’s harasser.  And the mentally unstable and puffy Mervo, who’s batshit cuckoo, obsessed with bible quotes, and is also Tiny Tim isn’t any help either.

Fortunately, Jill’s Commando poster above her bed was a source of comfort.

And thus Jill’s nightmare begins as margarine tubs of blood wait silently and ready to pounce, a pantyhose-head creep stalks the night and takes pictures of Jill as she sleeps, and the victims pile up in the spooky barn out back where every victim seems to think is a safe place to hide. 

Something horrifying happened here.  I’ll have to get back to you.

In the end, we learn valuable lessons, never trust guys in sweaters during Wisconsin summers, never practice ballerina moves after rugburn sex, and never turn your back on your lunch with Tiny Tim in the room.

THE FINISHER:

In difficult economic times such as now, you’d think the one-line movie pitch “Tiny Tim in a horror movie” would be just the thing to turn things around.  Think again.

Uncertainty about Tiny’s acting chops certainly didn’t stop Wisconsin auteur Bill Rebane (Monster A-Go-Go, Giant Spider Invasion) from seeing this pitch come to life. And the result is, well, weird, but you kinda couldn’t expect less from the ukulele-strumming legend.  Clad in clown pants, splotched with bad make-up, and being so him, Tiny is the best thing about this slow but eerie psychological thriller, but unfortunately his scenes are few and far between.  The film is probably Rebane’s most technically adept as absent is “The Rebane Touch” (essentially: 1. Point camera at people, 2. Tell them to say stuff, 3. Hide in a hayloft for three weeks and hope everything works out).  But unfortunately present are Rebane’s other staples: clunky dialogue, random religious references, and minimalist gore.  And then there’s not much blood harvesting going on, in fact it’s more like watching weeds grow.  But the real treat is watching the late, bloated, gloriously great Tiny Tim doing his shtick, disturbing and enthralling us with his own brand of unique weirdness that will probably be unparalleled in pop culture history.

STALKING SANTA (2006)

THE CARD:

Santa hos and Shatner shats; a not-so subtle Erich von Daniken parody; and thousands of ass-flattening hours watching the History Channel.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Lloyd Darrow (Chris Clark) is the world’s premier “Santologist" or Santa Claus Expert whose glorious, lifelong and mostly futile attempt to prove the existence of Old Saint Nick is the focus of this incisive documentary.  The breadth of Darrow’s research has included first-hand accounts of Santa sightings from impish kids and questionably sober adults, alleged recordings of Santa sending X-mas wishes during séances, the interrogation of so-called Mall Santas who may be agents of a secret cabal to conceal the truth, and of course, a plethora of Santa-related archeological evidence:

The Aztecs loved their stocking of sacrificial heads on X-mas morn.

Also featured are his long-suffering but supportive wife Barbara (Lisa Clark), his sweet daughter, his increasingly disillusioned son, and enthusiastic research assistant Clarence (Daryn Tufts) who stands by Darrow's questionable certainty despite the odds.  The detail of their investigation in the days leading up to X-mas reveals the full scope of the Santa Conspiracy which provides explanations for  everything from crop circles (alternate landing fields for Santa’s sleight), to UFO sightings (Santa’s sleigh ride tests), to  the so-called “alien” body recovery at Roswell, NM in 1947:

All the autopsy revealed was three pounds of semi-digested sugar cookies.

The passion that drives Darrow and his protégé Clarence is finding out the identity of who or what is suppressing public knowledge of Santa's existence, and they come up with some pretty reasonable answers.  For example, if Santa – the universal gift giver – existed, parents would be able to save their money at the end of the year, or perhaps invest in a certain masked movie blogger’s Hamdinger franchise.  Santa’s free goody giveaway would result in economic ruin as well as a shitload of leftover candy canes.  While the rest of the world mocks him, Darrow perseveres and his belief is bolstered by the appearance of mysterious characters that enter his life with secret information and stories about governmental interference in the truth about Santa Claus.  In the end, we are presented with a livid portrait of a man obsessed with unraveling that which cannot – and perhaps should not – be unraveled, and the truth may reveal a stocking filled with glittering lies, a Pandora’s box of tinseled chaos, a time bomb of elfin deceit.  Insert gratuitous fruitcake joke here.

THE FINISHER:

I might be talking out the business end of my hinder but when it’s all said and done, the 2000s will be known for one thing and one thing only: the post-Spinal Tap reemergence of the mockumentary.  Stalking Santa is a great idea for a fake documentary and its X-mas chuckles, creative enthusiasm, spirited performances, and awesome William Shatner narration make for light fare and fun times.    Filmed perhaps to perfection in the style of any History Channel UFO documentary with hints of The Office, the movie hits its comedic notes consistently and the production values in terms of the Santa “evidence”, eyewitness accounts, and interviews are smart and well-done.  Interspersed between the wackiness are interviews with real kids sharing their feelings about Santa.  For the most part, these sequences are cute but not very memorable.  Well except for this one little girl. 

Trust me, this kid steals the show.

The movie for the most part avoids most of the pitfalls of lesser mockumentaries that could have sunk its subtle humor and deadpan delivery and provides some good laughs without getting too wacky or off-topic.  If Santa does indeed exist, and duh he does, maybe he’ll put this fun little movie in your movie stocking.  That is, if you haven’t been a complete asshole this year.

ELVES (1989)

THE CARD:

A Grisly End to a Career; A Catalog of Bent Wangs; Crypto-Nazi Grandpa; Crypto-Nazi Imaginary Beings; Crypto-Nazi Valley Girls; a useful purpose for non-virgin blood; Christmas Cat Dip; (s)elf-powered puppets; and the thankful absence of Will Ferrell beating midgets.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Bitchy teen waitress Kirsten (Julie Austin) has never had a nice X-mas.  All her life she’s had to deal with her insufferable family including her extremely nervous Mom (Deanna Lund), her pervy TMNT-fan brother, and her wheelchair-bound badly accented Grandpa (Borah Silver).  And so to battle her holiday depression, she enlists the aid of her mentally-challenged girlfriends to venture into the forest and perform an arcane ritual to ruin everyone’s X-mas.  She accidentally cuts herself and bleeds into the grave of long-entombed creature. So what at first was a cry for help quickly turns into an accidental conjuring of an evil elfin spirit, and I ain’t talking about double-chocolate dipped chip cookies. 

Speaking of cries for help, former cop and recovering alcoholic Mike McGavin (a very sad-looking chain-smoking Dan Haggerty) shows up at Golem’s department store and begs for a job.  He eventually gets the coveted job of store Santa after the former jolly fat dude gets Lorena-Bobbited by the evil elf which is now on the loose in the store and apparently hates wieners.  Kirsten, who works in the store’s diner, befriends Grizzly Santa and one night while locked in the store, the pair is attacked by German goons on the trail of the resurrected demon-spawn in a furry hat.

No, I won't work past five on the 24th, Fatso!

The next day, Mike and Kirsten launch an investigation into the nature of the monster and its khaki-clad followers and discover that elves were worshiped by the Nazis and subsequently genetically engineered by Kirsten’s Grandpa in order to raise an army of angry toy-making freedom haters.  They also find out that on Christmas Eve, this particular alpha-elf is going to stuff virgin Kirsten’s silken stocking to jump-start the Master Elf Race, aka the Littlest Reich.  Oh, and there’s this weird incestuous twist tossed  in that takes Mike over the edge and so he starts whaling on anyone that might look “whimsical”.

You said you'd pay me in cash!!!

So what follows is a Magical Pixie Apocalypse that brings the forces of evil (German Goons & Uber-Elf) against the Forces of Good (Virginal Kirsten) against the Forces of Tubby and Phlegmy (Poor Ol’ Dan Haggerty).

THE FINISHER:

 

The tradition of shitty horror movies set at X-mas continues with the abjectly cheap Elves, a relatively and perhaps deservedly obscure X-mas horror title.  Ok, so this wasn’t James Cameron’s sequel to Elf.  Strike one.  Also, Haggerty didn’t bother to bring along a big ass bear to do some Nazi-chomping.  Strike two.  In defiance of its own title, there is only one fricking elf in the film.  Strike effing three.  And it’s a hatefully ugly little thing, kind of like a $.99 Store version of a mini-Voldemort only not good.  And you never see the full body, only the top half which moves way too puppet-like.  The idea of evil elves battling Santa Claus in a department store on X-mas Eve sounds like a no-brainer, and the casting of Haggerty sounds even more inspired.  But somehow the creative forces behind this thing decided that piling on incest, racism, animal abuse, and an uncomfortably horny kid made for fun holiday horror fare.  Well, actually it does kinda work at times, but the inept execution takes the edge off and ultimately it comes off as just mean-spirited and creatively bereft.  Another huge problem is that you only see Haggerty in a Santa suit for about ten seconds.  What the hell, man?

EL TREMENDO RETURNS VERY SOON!

EL TREMENDO is planning to review random movies very soon. Any obscure, cultish, weirdly outstanding titles to recommend?