It’s been far too long since I’ve delved into the land of the Sketch, and for that, I sincerely apologize. I’ve taken this weekend to regroup, in a way, and have immersed myself deeply into a Sketch Cinema-riffic weekend. So for this week, my return to SMSC, I bring you Max Kalmanowicz’s 1980 sketch beauty, The Children.

Successfully redefining the concept of the nuclear family, this low-budget bit of brilliance tells the tale of a surprisingly stealth, yet ultimately dooming leak at a local nuclear facility in a small, rural New England town. Aside from the apparent (and remarkably localized) effect of the toxic cloud on a busload of school children in town, the townspeople are completely unaware of the accident altogether.

Five children, along with everyone’s favorite bus driver, Fred (to whom the children lovingly sing tributes to pass the time) disappear completely after their bus passes through a strange toxic cloud, leaving the bus still running, yet abandoned, on the side of the road. The toxic cloud seemingly has no effect on middle-aged women, however, as local mother Cathy Freemont speeds pass the bus, waving, and past the deadly mist unharmed.

As the town’s only two police officers discover the bus and missing children, the town is put on alert, unsure of what exactly transpired. There is no mention of any incident at the nuclear facility, and, in fact, no one in town seems to even be aware that such a facility even exists as there is simply no mention of it. Strange.

We slowly learn that the toxic cloud has turned the children into zombie-like, touchy-feely radioactive freaks, who begin to seek out their families and neighbors for a flesh-melting hug. I must admit, the concept of the various moments of relief which are experienced by certain townsfolk, upon finding ‘the children’, leading nicely to certain death does play out quite cleverly. Who wouldn’t rush to embrace a child that’s been inexplicably missing all day?

John Freemont, that’s who. Freemont seems to be the only person capable of connecting the dots, as he is quick to realize that the deaths of the locals must have something directly to do with the children. This flash of genius, though, only comes after having overheard the town drunk – I mean, dispatcher – rush to meet the children only to be lost in a sea of wild, helpless screaming. Genius, I tell you.

There are certain lessons to be gained from this cinematic cheesefest – lessons that just may keep you alive in the event that a toxic cloud hijack a school bus in your town:

• Zombie toxi-children cannot be killed by gunfire. Preferring much more intimate forms of battle, one must employ the use of a meat cleaver to destroy said opponent.

• You can touch les enfants de zombie, but you mustn’t hug or otherwise embrace. Shoulder-grabbing and face-stroking are apparently safe actions to engage in.
• One can easily identify a zombie toxi-child by his or her sudden black fingernails. This is a tell-tale sign, so all pre-teens sporting such should be regarded as highly dangerous, radioactive killers.

Other lessons, courtesy of http://www.badmovies.org/movies/thechildren:

• Nuclear power plant’s safety and maintenance crews are comprised of rednecks; two of them.
• Finding an empty school bus, apparently abandoned in a hurry, will not worry a police officer.
• Being a good parent involves codeine.
• There are times when hugging your kid is the wrong thing to do.
• Shooting a broiled dog is just as effective, if not more so, than beating a dead horse.
• Playing tag with a mutant is a game of life and death.
• Kids come apart easier than boiled chicken.

So now, kiddies, I leave you with this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema quote of the week:

Billy: “Bullets have no effect on them. John, we’ve got to cut off their hands! That’s where they’re vulnerable!

Tweet This Post Stumble This Post

For those of you hoping for an updated version of Howard Zieff’s 1973 comedy, let me deflate your hopes before we go any further and clarify that there will be no mention of James Caan as we discuss this week’s voyage into B-Moviesville.

 

Instead, I bring you James Gunn’s Slither.

 

After happening upon this little gem of over-the-top, gory ‘horror’ hilarity, I settled in for ninety-five minutes of graphic gore, dozens of small-town stereotypes, and a collection of quips and one-liners that almost rivaled an Austin Powers movie. Almost.

 

The story focuses on the small town of Wheelsy, where a meteor has managed to crash to earth in a loud, uproarious explosion, conveniently unnoticed by two Podunk local cops who are parked a mere thirty feet away. When the town’s resident rich guy (Grant Grant, immaculately portrayed by Michael Rooker) sneaks away for a quick romp with the town slut (after being denied yet again by his much younger, high school biology teacher wife), he discovers something slithering around in the woods behind the local bar.

 

Upon further investigation, the slithering substance in question suddenly bores a hole through Grant’s chest, carves its way to his brain stem, and proceeds to take over his body, bringing with it such side effects as wanting to make sweet, tender love to his wife and an insatiable appetite for raw meat.

 

But Starla, Grant’s wife, knows something is amiss, and shares her concerns with the ever-ready Town hero Bill Parday (portrayed by Nathan Fillion), whom one is led to assume has a history with the lovely Mrs. Grant as the film provides weak allusions to some hidden, sinister affair sub-plot, though it is never fully explored.

 

As Grant Grant runs amok all over town, kidnapping local dogs and farm     animals to sustain his never-ending hunger for meat, he returns once again to his favorite little piece of trailer-park booty for a quick chest-boring, not only succeeding in turning her into one of these extra terrestrial creatures, but also managing to impregnate her and turning her into a ravenous, flesh-hungry, giant beach-ball-of-flesh. One should not miss the birthing scene, under any circumstances.

 

While the movie reeks of discarded film bits from the screening room floor of Night of the Creeps, Slither takes the B genre to the next level by dotting the script with classic one-liners that seem to indicate the cheese-awareness of all involved in creating this little chunk of goodness. It does not take itself seriously, and has absolutely no time for viewers who expect to do so, either.

 

And so for now, I leave you with this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema movie quote of the week:

 

Jack MacReady: [panicked] We need to find this Grant, and I mean yesterday. Town council’s lit a Roman Candle, stuck it up my ass.
Bill Pardy: Jack, your leisure activities ain’t my business.

Tweet This Post Stumble This Post