Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema: Zombie Death House (1987)

I’m excited to say that last week I was reunited not only with my back-from-the-dead computer, but more importantly, with my Netflix online account.  I must confess, in the weeks in which I was separated from my dear friend, FearNet left me profoundly disappointed in its lackluster post-Halloween programming lineup.  There’s only so much Sleepaway Camp I can take.

Perusing the selection of deliciously-sketchy B-movies and cheese-laden zombie flicks, I decided to settle in for a Sketch Cinema masterpiece which is lovingly brought to us by none other than Lt. Donald Thompson himself, John Saxon.  From nightmares to zombies, I present to you Saxon’s 1987 unintentional zom-com, Zombie Death House.

Derek Keillor’s having a rough time.  He’s trying to break free from his boss, mob kingpin Vic Moretti, after being Moretti’s driver for some time.  This is tough to do, particularly as he’s conveniently servicing his boss’s girlfriend in his off-time.  Moretti solves one problem for Keillor by killing said girlfriend, though he manages to frame Keillor for the murder, sending him off to prison.

We soon learn that at said prison, Colonel Burgess (Saxon), a bio-weapons engineer, is testing out the latest in chemical warfare and is using death row inmates as his test subjects.  Everything goes swimmingly to plan until the attempted execution of a recently infected inmate – an opportunity which presents the convict with the opportunity to demonstrate his super-human, zombie-like prowess – and all hell proceeds to break loose.

A lesser director would have simply settled for a prison-based zombie apocalypse, but not our pal John Saxon – and this is why we love him.  Keillor has managed to spring most of the inmates from their cells, while the government has quarantined the entire prison, leaving guards, staff, the warden (and his wife and children), and a local hot-blonde-scientist-turned-TV-reporter all trapped within the prison grounds.

Keillor clearly sees the opportunity laid out for him, and he and his fellow inmates begin to take hostages and make demands – particularly in order to get Moretti to the prison, where his homosexual brother has been taken hostage as well.  Moretti happily obliges, eagerly awaiting the chance to point and laugh at Keillor, unaware of the quarantine on the building.  How will Moretti react once he realizes he’s trapped?

Zombie Death House is a gore-filled, laugh-a-minute mash up of cheesy-action-drama and take-it-for-what-it’s-worth violence, reminiscent of an undead version of Miami Vice. Obviously Saxon is taking his cues from his Napoli violenta days as the movie desperately tries so hard to be much bigger than it is.  Lucio Fulci you are not, Mr. Saxon, but I, for one, appreciate the effort.

And now, my little sketchy friends, I leave you with this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema quote of the week:

“Got no bananas here monkey ass. Keep walking.” (Death Row Inmate)

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Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema: Zombie Death House (1987)

Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema: Children of the Living Dead (2001)

It’s one thing to make an unofficial remake of a horror film.  A tribute, if you will.  The unofficial 1990 remake of Night of the Living Dead clearly demonstrated the innocent fun to be found in such remake spirit – free to include nuances and slight differences without criticism due to its ‘unofficial’ nature.

It’s when folks start to toe the line between campy tribute and flat-out cinematic disaster that my Sketch Cinema spidey-senses start a’ tingling.  Never one to resist pure horror catastrophe, I treated myself to a late-night, mid-week screening of one of the most puzzling and saddening straight-to-video films of all time.  In honor of Halloween, my sketch-loving friends, I bring you Tor A. Ramsey’s Children of the Living Dead.

Don’t let the title confuse you, however.  At no point, whatsoever, during the duration of this film were any children spawned from zombies.

That’s right. None.  Not even any zombie coitus, making-out, or heavy petting.

But there were, after all, zombies.  So we shall continue.

COTLD attempts to pick up where the bastardized version of Night of ends…cavalcades of red-necked, pickup-truck-driving, saw-off-shotgun-totin locals roaming bland-looking fields, knocking off massive amounts of the undead, one by one.  The zom-tastrophe appears to be well in control thanks to our film’s hero, ex-cop-turned-survivalist Hughes (theatrically portrayed by Tom Savini), who clearly needed an outlet for his anti-undead-acrobatic skills.

Unfortunately for Hughes (and even more unfortunate for his partner, Sheriff Randolph, who is pretty much a useless, pompous donkey), his ninja-like prowess is nothing for our leader of the undead pack, one Abbott Hayes.  Hayes was a local feller with a penchant for raping and torturing women who, after being murdered in prison, disappeared from the morgue (we suppose so, anyway – my neck still hurts from the whiplash-y time-jumping way in which the movie refuses to tell us an actual story) only to return as a dapper, well-dressed zombie (sporting clean-as-whistle wing tips).  Hughes’ acrobatics are ineffective on Hayes, who merely reaches in, Mola Ram-style, and rips Hughes’ beating heart out of his chest.  After his body is thrown down the barn door, Hughes has enough time to explain to Sheriff Rudolph what has transpired, even asking him to shoot him.

Fourteen years later, after a mysterious car wreck that claimed the lives of four local teens, it seems our pal Abbott Hayes is still roaming the area of his former home, and this time, he’s lonely.  He happens upon the caskets of our young victims, and loving nibbles each to bring them into his zombified world.

Oh, and throughout this whole debacle, some rich dude decides he’s going to send his son out there to build a car dealership, directly on top of Hayes’ family graveyard.  Well, not actually on top – they dug up the caskets and dumped them all into a huge pit rather than relocating them to another cemetery.  Because that’s a good idea.

Hilary ensues, as one could naturally imagine, as our half-hearted cast of characters run around between the cemetery, the motel, and the diner, muttering to themselves and forgetting to clue the rest of us in on key elements of plotline.  The movie strays from conventional zombie wisdom, however, in key ways:

• Sneaky Little Bastards. Although we, the viewers, can clearly hear Abbott and his zombie friends wheezing and moaning and generally not being so stealth, it appears not only quite possible, but also quite commonplace, for a zombie to successfully sneak up on a living human, completely unsuspected, and eat them.
• The Failure of Inference. We don’t know why Abbott Hayes became a zombie.  We don’t know why or how he disappeared from the morgue.  Hell, we don’t even really know who the hell he even is save for the tiny bits of info we’re spoon fed throughout the duration of the film.  So who cares?
• Pediophobia. Apparently, according to Children of the Living Dead, zombies aren’t attracted to children.  Who’da thunk?
• Zombies are Smooth . Unlike their stiff and uptight ancestors, our zombies move fluidly, albeit slowly, and much like John Cleese in his trademark Ministry of Silly Walks sketch.

One might simply conclude that, despite the obvious failures of the film, a zombie movie, no matter how horrible, is still an enjoyable experience.  I implore you to toss that silly notion aside, as COTLD refuses to even show on camera any actual zombie killings, instead cutting away to attempted ‘artistic’ camera angles and leaving the viewer to deduce what occurred.

Art-nouveau, zombie-style? I think not.

And now, on this day before Halloween, I leave you with this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema quote of the week:

Matthew Micheals: “Of all the places in all the world my dad could have picked to build his dealership, he picked the one right down the street from Walking Dead Central.”

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Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema: Children of the Living Dead (2001)

I’ve tried, in my own way, to formulate a well-written and concise synopsis of the plotline of this week’s Sketch Cinema gorefest, only to find that I fail at every turn, as this week’s voyage into the land of B-movie terror seems to come from a script which was seemingly written as if the cast and crew merely improvised a story line.  For this week, dear friends, I am stepping outside the norm and offering up a pre-canned, neat little synopsis for you, courtesy of www.movieweb.com.  I give you a very special Midweek Movie Madness version of SMSC, Jack Messitt’s 2008 bloodbath, Midnight Movie.

“A midnight screening of a 1970s cult horror film becomes a wholesale bloodbath after the members of the audience see one of their friends butchered on the big screen, and quickly surmise that there’s a madman in the theater who seeks to slaughter them all. It was just another run down movie house in a small suburban town: what better place for a screening of a true cult classic? But this isn’t your typical horror film, because years ago, the director had been locked away in a psychiatric hospital after having a complete mental breakdown. The teens at the screening have no idea that he escaped from the hospital nearly five years ago, and that chances are good he’s still out there somewhere. When the film starts to roll and the heckling begins, the atmosphere in the theater is loose and fun. Giddiness gives way to deep-rooted dread, however, when the horrified audience is forced to watch as one of their good friends is viciously murdered right before their very eyes. This is no movie, and when the audience tries to flee they realize that the same psycho they just saw on the silver screen has now trapped them all in the theater. With no hope of escape and their numbers thinning fast, the survivors must now figure out a way to turn the tables on the very same killer that they once rooted for in their favorite slasher flick.”

To the untrained eye, this actually seems like a pretty good plot for a horror movie.  So many elements come together to create what could be an explosively tense and frightening movie, only to fall apart at the last minute like a pair of  $0.99 Walmart flip-flops.

The Members of the Audience – a rather clever way to describe the eight-or-so people in attendance for this screening, our audience consists of a small group of teens, a rough-looking biker couple, and good old Detective Barons, who merely years prior helped to lock up the very film’s director in a mental institution.  We’re joined shortly into the movie by little Timmy, the younger brother of Bridget, a teeny-bopper whose mother had been horribly murdered.

The Director – I’m still not quite sure what exactly this has to do with the movie screening going horribly awry, but apparently there is supposed to be some connection made that was inadvertently left on the cutting room floor.  Our beloved detective has been made aware of the director’s hospital break out, and is on the lookout for his arrival.  The whole point seems rather silly to me, given the intended supernatural aspect of the plot.

Good Times Gone Bad – the teens start to notice that their own friends, each having removed themselves from the theater for various reasons, are suddenly appearing on-screen in the film, being brutally murdered one-by-one and dragged off to some undisclosed location.  Instead of citing this as completely irregular, the teens actually praise their friends’ clever ability to pull of some kind of major hoax.  Right. I’d be out of there faster than a bad blind date.

There are so many delicious little tidbits scattered throughout this movie – little gems of unintended humor here, bits of unsuccessful attempts at shock and gore there – that I can’t even begin to do them all justice.  One almost starts to wonder if Midnight Movie is actually a serious attempt at a horror movie at all…judging by the trailer, I am sadly led to believe it actually was.

And now, my sketch-loving cohorts, I bid you adieu, and leave you this week’s SM Sketch Cinema quote of the week:

“If you get turned on by this, we’re breaking up.”

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Last week’s post-event wind-down provided a massive amount of material to work with for this week’s SMSC, what with a physically exhausted body and a mind merely capable of functioning at half its normal IQ.  Inadvertently choosing an incredibly fitting theme, Chez Angele was teeming with zombie films galore as I gently coaxed myself back to real life, post-Comics Against Cancer. 

This week, my sketch-loving friends, I bring you the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup of zombie films; a film that dares to combine the creepy awesomeness of the undead with the skin-crawling wretchedness of WWII Nazis, Steve Barker’s Outpost. 

Set in an unidentified, seedy war-torn area of Eastern Europe, Outpost tells the story of Hunt, a mysterious businessman who appears in a local bar, seeking to hire out a team of mercenaries to protect him as he ventures off to explore a recently acquired old military bunker.  With the promise of lots of cash and little risk, the cantankerous group of ex-soldiers can’t help but bite, and the group begins their journey into the unknown. 

Now, this sets us, the viewers, up for a nice, tense little tag-along ride as Hunt and his group of misfit toys begin their adventure.  We know there is much to fear where they are headed.  Why? Because we simply wouldn’t be watching it otherwise.  

For the members of the makeshift unit, however, it’s difficult to believe that, after having been assured that there is little threat in the job,  these men would slink around in a rather stealth fashion, guns drawn and ready to kill the first thing that moves.  Call me crazy, but it just seems a bit overkill for such a ‘safe’ mission.  We get it. We know there is something vastly freaky awaiting you lot – but you don’t. 

As the group arrives at their destination – a deserted WWII-era bunker – it suddenly becomes quite clear that this is not the safe little trip the soldiers were promised.  Unseen enemy fire rains upon them from the perimeter of the bunker, with one bullet resting in the left shoulder of one unlucky solder-for-hire.  As the film unfolds, we witness the mysterious advances of an unseen enemy force as the clearing around the bunker is brightly lit up at night, and the terrifying sound of ammunition is deafening. 

Hunt and his soldiers explore the secret bunker, which has seemingly laid undisturbed since the Nazis occupied it in WWII, and find, much to their horror, evidence of shocking human experimentation and other mysterious devices.  Having stumbled upon a chamber of naked, non-decomposed corpses, the soldiers are horrified to discover a survivor laying in the pile.   

A survivor!  Huzzah!  Surely this is something to be celebrated as the soldiers have seen nothing but death around them since their arrival.  Alas, our brave group of mercenaries instead seem to gang up on the unresponsive survivor, beating him and intimidating him into talking (which he does not).  So much for playing the victim. 

As the night unfolds, we begin to learn more about the secret work that took place in the bunker, including shape-shifting experimentation and reanimation, all in an effort by the SS to create the undefeatable super-soldier.  Deliciously haunted by a hint of actual history, the movie plays on the theories of Die Glocke (“the bell”), a purported top secret Nazi scientific technological device which has become something of a legend among believers in zero-point energy, perpetual motion machines, anti-gravity devices, reality shifting, reanimation, and time-space manipulation. 

This film, as far as zombie movies go (although I question the accuracy of dubbing this film’s villains as such), delivered more than one could ever hope for in a relatively unknown, almost-B horror movie.  Disregarding the strained, Saving Private Ryan-esque acting on the part of the mercenaries, this movie successfully creeped me out in unimaginable ways, leaving me tingling with anticipation over the rumored 2010 sequel, Outpost 2 (clever, eh?). 

And now, my dear readers and lovers of everything sketchy, I leave you with this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema quote of the week: 

Prior: See, the bright light… it ain’t heaven, son. It’s just a muzzle flare.

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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!

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Angie’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema: The Dentist (1996)

This week’s voyage into all things sketchy takes us to a place that makes most of us shudder anyway, even without the context of a sketchy film.  I hope you’ve been brushing, kids, because for today’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema, I bring you Brian Nuzna’s 1996 sketch sleeper, The Dentist.

Corbin Bernsen is Dr. Alan Feinstein, a rather well-to-do and successful dentist with a picture perfect life: a thriving practice, a beautiful home, and a gorgeous blonde wife.  We meet Dr. Feinstein in a bright white room, as he goes about his dentistry with imaginary tools and begins to weave his macabre tale of betrayal and undoing.

Intensified by strikingly dramatic cinematography, we are taken into the psyche of the good dentist as he happens upon the horrifying scene of his wife having a rather graphic romp with the hired help (who is remarkably covered in mud, which is surprising, for a pool boy) on none other than the day of their wedding anniversary.

Wrought with rage and an appetite for vengeance, Dr. Feinstein takes us through imaginary scenarios in which he exacts his revenge on both wife and boy toy, and we begin to witness the depraved potential our highly-regarded dentist actually possesses.  But he waits – he waits for his moment, leaving the two lovebirds unaware, for the time being.

It must not be easy to go about your day as a medical professional after seeing your wife fornicate with a less-than-physically-appealing pool boy, but Feinstein puts his all into it.  That is, until, his patients all start to morph into twisted, decaying versions of his harlot wife in his eyes.

One by one, his unsuspecting patients are subjected to his ruthless torture as he hallucinates and desperately removes teeth, gasses up the masses, and even tries to make sexual advances on drugged-up patients.

But none of the strange goings-on seem to phase the folks in the packed waiting room, including young Jody, who just wants to finally get her braces removed, as no one wishes to go home, or, even more surprisingly, seek alternative dentistry.

Personally, going to the dentist is sketchy enough for me.  Unable to keep my mind from replaying some of the vividly graphic and almost comical torture scenes (a warning for child and animal lovers, as no one is above tooth decay, apparently), it will be a miracle if I can force myself to make my next appointment for a cleaning.  I’m gonna go brush my teeth, now…you know, just to be safe…

But in the meantime, I leave you with this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema quote of the week:

Dr. Alan Feinstone: [To Sarah] So sad… how it can only be ruined… the rest of your life can only spoil what we’ve made… the idea that every second they’re just… rotting away. Can you live with that? I don’t think you can
[pulls out a gun.]

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Angie’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema: The Dentist (1996)

I was thinking of some older, random movies that I used to watch during my childhood, mainly with an old friend whom I spent the greater part of growing up with.  We had our stock of five or six staple movies that we watched over and over again, though there was never a rhyme or reason to the mix of titles: Adventures in Babysitting, Nadia, and a little-known 1986 horror gem featuring a very, very young Kirsty Swanson called Deadly Friend.

I spent a good amount of time desperately trying to recall the name of the latter film, with only basic plot line knowledge to go on.  I remembered a robot. I remembered the scene with the basketball.  I remembered Kirsty.  Hoping this would be enough, I searched far and wide until I was able to actually find not only the title, but a copy of the movie itself.

And now, to celebrate my find and my trip down memory lane, for this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema, I bring you Wes Craven’s 1986 horror wonderment, Deadly Friend.

Matthew Laborteaux portrays Paul Conway, a teenager who has just moved into town with his single mother. He happens to be a super-genius of sorts as we soon find that, unlike most kids Paul’s age, Paul doesn’t attend high school but the local university, where he’s secured a full scholarship.  Oh, and he also has a pet robot named BB who has a bit of a mean streak when it comes to defending his owner.

Paul soon meets Samantha Pringle, his young, blonde and perky next-door neighbor, who does her best to hide the abuse she suffers at the hands of her alcoholic father.  The two soon form a quick bond, along with neighborhood friend Tom, and the foursome (with BB, of course) become inseparable in the ‘hood.

They say that dogs are man’s best friend, but in young Paul’s case, it’s his robotic pal BB who soon proves its utter devotion to his human creator.  As the various trials and tribulations of dealing with the underdeveloped and angry Mr.  Pringle (we never quite learn just why he’s such a prick, which would have been fun), along with the ever-typical paranoid, creepy-old-neighborhood lady unfold, we’re treated to an inside view of BB’s increasing anger at those who bring stress and turmoil to Paul’s life.  BB’s true nature is shown when Paul encounters a group of apparently well-known thugs, when BB intervenes with a key crotch grab and saves the day.

Life for the bizarre threesome quickly takes a solemn turn as Samantha suffers life-ending brain damage after being knocked down the stairs by her father.  Having lost BB to the hands of the crazy old lady (who is quite trigger happy and rather protective of her property), Paul can no longer deal and develops his macabre plan to save Sam’s life.  How exactly does he plan to do this? Why, by implanting BB’s ‘brain’ into Sam’s lifeless body.

Hilarity ensues as we’re treated to BB’s memories resurfacing in the now robotic and zombie-like Samantha.  She/He/It hasn’t forgotten the many incidents that brought darkness to Paul’s world.  And she’s hell bent on revenge.  Be sure to watch as a basketball is turned into a method of cold-blooded killing – who knew, right?

I went into this sketch cinema voyage with the expectation that, as is usually the case, I’d be left wondering why this movie was such a central part of the repertoire back in the day.  As is the case, however, with just about any Wes Craven movie from the 80′s, this film did not disappoint.  Lacking the usual cheesy one-liners and wardrobe embarrassments heavily prevalent in the genre of the time, Deadly Friend is a fantastic example of just why we love Wes.

And now, my friends, I leave you with this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema quote of the week:

Tom: Hey, she’s dead? Hey, what the hell are you doing, you didn’t say anything about a dead body, we were supposed to save her life!

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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.

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