I'm choosing to fill a small part of the gray area in my life with random reviews from the realms of cinema, music, and more things that are generally looked down upon by society. And you've chosen to read them apparently.
Four young boys save a mentally handicapped child from humiliation and harm by shooing his bullies away. Immediately afterwards, they befriend the mistreated soul, nicknamed "Duddits," and through other circumstances, manage to acquire telepathic powers for themselves. Many years go by, and save for Duddits, the childhood chums have gathered together at a remote cabin for an annual hunting trip and excuses to catch up with one another. One evening, they take in a random, seemingly ill stranger named Rick, who says he was lost in the woods before they found him. After two members of the group venture out for help, the others stick around to watch over the new visitor, but soon realize that something is amiss with the environment around them. Worse yet, our foreign houseguest seems to be harboring something far more sinister than an upset, bloated stomach.
As I have done on more than a couple of occasions this year, let me regale you with a story from my younger days. During my senior year at Montgomery Blair High School, we were given a rather unique, though fun-sounding assignment to complete within a week's time: pick up a novel of your choosing, read it, and then view its big/small screen adaptation in order to make comparisons between the two sources. The best aspect came from being told that save for pornographic material, there would be nothing in the way of restrictions. Being the gigantic nerd and weirdo that I am, opting to choose a work from author Stephen King seemed like a surefire way to ensure a decent grade. However, I soon hit a snag when I realized that the theatrical release for the horror icon's (then) most recent effort Dreamcatcher was set to premiere two days after the deadline of said project. Thankfully, our teacher granted me an exception so that I may properly view the picture without any interference or risk of failure. That, and she was just a very nice person in general.
So, if I did in fact, make my way to the cinema to see Dreamcatcher before, why am I writing about it this time around? Well, there are multiple reasons. The first is that I have virtually no memory of the book, film, or anything in between related to it. The second, though clichéd as it may sound, is due to recent discussions on a number of (social) media outlets and sources, including the excellent How Did This Get Made? podcast, about how atrocious the flick actually is. The idea is that it's one of Stephen King's most ridiculous, messy, awful, and just plain silly handlings to date. After seeing it again for the first time in thirteen years, I came to one simple conclusion in regards to those collective opinions.
They are one hundred and ten percent correct.
To call Dreamcatcher a catastrophe is rather harsh, but calling it anything other than a small train wreck would be wholly immoral. On paper, there is absolutely no chance in hell that it should turn out the way that it does. Your four leads are comprised of Thomas Jane (Boogie Nights, The Punisher), Jason Lee (Chasing Amy, My Name is Earl), Damian Lewis (Homeland, Band of Brothers), and Timothy Olyphant (Deadwood, Justified). Other supporting characters are portrayed by Tom Sizemore (Natural Born Killers, Saving Private Ryan) and MORGAN GODDAMN FREEMAN. Add to that the screenwriters of esteemed releases like The Empire Strikes Back and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and any human being with capable brain power or respectable taste should tell you that Dreamcatcher is too big to fail. Shockingly, and quite surprisingly, none of this seems to matter and is ultimately irrelevant. There is negative chemistry between any and all of our protagonists, with Lee in particular seeming like he just wants to get off the set as quickly as he possibly can and our beloved Shawshank Redemption veteran turning in a wacky performance that is worthy of winning a Razzie or three. When the audience considers what they're working with, be it dialogue, themes, or characters seemingly plagiarized from the creator's own previous compositions (take a shot for every similarity to It and Stand by Me, or for when Freeman's eyebrows seemingly grow larger), the aforementioned factor of bewilderment is more miniscule than we initially thought.
Though pointed out above, I do want to acknowledge the tremendous talent of Mr. William Goldman and Mr. Lawrence Kasdan. Their filmographies, be it as screenplay authors or directors (the latter is in the chair this time around), are truly the stuff of legend. So much so, that I believe Dreamcatcher's story was just too difficult to make into anything but a goofy picture. There are only so many ways that any number of folks can rewrite or reimagine an important plot point that revolves around giant, teethed leeches who crawl out of your posterior in order to attack nearby prey and threats (and are preceded by many instances of flatulence and belching from the host), or a man whose alien parasite sounds like an amusingly stupid impersonation of a British countryman after he has inhabited the body it has chosen (think of when one purposely imitates their boss at a drunken Halloween gathering). Considering that King was recovering from a nasty car accident which almost sent him into retirement, it would not have shocked me to hear of him watching 1986's cult classic Night of the Creeps while he was hopped up on OxyContin. One of the film's more memorable moments involves a creature being confined to a toilet while Lee sits atop in an attempt to prevent its escape. The Maine author said that he wished for this scene to do for bathrooms what Psycho did for showers, which while fine in theory, is immediately shot down when you hear Freeman's character officially refer to them as "Shit Weasels" later on. As someone who unashamedly loves another movie involving rectal-based monsters, I can say that when you bring up the colon as a significant element to take note of, then your serious factor goes into an irrecoverable nosedive.
In the end, despite some interesting ideas such as one's own mind acting as a private library, Dreamcatcher is far too idiotic for anyone to consider it frightening or suspenseful, yet is played too seriously to be properly, unintentionally hilarious. In fact, had this been retooled or marketed as a proper horror-comedy, there is a chance that the experience as whole would have been far more enjoyable, and its legacy left even an ounce stronger than it is. Instead, what you're left with is a giant, smelly turd made up of unoriginality whose source of inspiration is even disowned by the author himself. And if that's coming from the guy who directed Maximum Overdrive, then you know that he means what he says. As a fair warning, I should inform you that the movie is available for streaming via Amazon Prime, and can purchased as either a singular DVD or Blu-Ray from nearly every retail establishment out there (don't be shocked if this is also floating around somewhere at your local supermarket in the side-cap areas). Even better, it is also packaged together with other releases from the early 2000s that also rightfully washed out into the sewer, so you can torture yourself for an entire day if that is your thing.
To the film's credit though, it is still far more coherent and viewable than The Langoliers.
Then again, so is watching snails fuck.
Tomorrow, we dive right in and tackle our yearly anthology pick! And as luck would have it, this choice has far more in common with not just this month's celebratory holiday, but many more to follow...
When a large, seemingly abandoned ship wanders into the harbor of New York, a small group of scientists and officers are sent to investigate. While on board, they discover that save for two deceased men, most of the crew has disappeared, and the only objects remaining on board are a collection of coffee crates that harbor large, green eggs inside of them. When exposed to heat and physical contact, the items pulsate and explode into a mess of an acid-like substance, which subsequently causes any nearby recipient's chest to explode from within. After the word of these ghastly revelations gets out to the military, they send in one Colonel Stella Holmes, who is convinced that there is a connection between these unknown eggs and a recent trip to Mars for two astronauts that ended when one disappeared not long after touching down on the planet.
It goes without saying that nearly any and every fan of horror cinema likes at least one or two Italian-based productions. Whether it is something stylish and beautifully macabre (Suspiria, Cemetery Man), an insane, violent romp with a rock and roll attitude (Demons), or something that is just out flat out bizarrely entertaining amongst glorious moments of gore (City of the Living Dead, Zombi 2), there is a little bit of something out there for everyone to enjoy. Lesser known to casual fans of this vastly humongous genre is the smaller offshoot of what has been dubbed over the years as the "Italian knockoffs." While not completely plagiarizing their sources of inspiration, these films had an unabashed, un-ironic tendency to take pictures from the west, give them a bit of a more colorful makeover by upping the blood spillage, increase the amount of buxom beauties shown throughout, and throw in a killer synth-based soundtrack to boot. Hell, even the latter feature from Lucio Fulci mentioned above was promoted as a sequel to George Romero's Dawn of the Dead many years before the actual follow-up was written and sent out to cinemas!
So, judging by Contamination's poster and my knowledge that it was often marketed as Alien Contamination in other circles, I was fully prepared for a nastier version of Ridley Scott's science fiction/horror classic from 1979, which was released to theaters only a year prior to this project from overseas. However, the similarities to that movie are surprisingly more exaggerated than I expected them to be. Outside of featuring the larger-sized eggs which cause explosions from the unfortunate victim's front area, Luigi Cozzi's (also of Star Wars knockoff Star Crash fame) foray into this field surprisingly stands on its own as a fairly unique beast, and shares virtually nothing in common with the flick that gave us the Xenomorph and Face Hugger. Most of Contamination borrows, but doesn't steal from an assortment of stateside thrillers and Sci-Fi features rather than just one singular entity. There is even a small influence from crime dramas thrown into the mix, with the actual bursting kept to a minimum so that it doesn't dissolve into relentless bloodshed with no actual human drama. Yes, it isn't like Contamination is the first to do this, but it feels oddly fresh when you think about the whole shebang and that it could have just made the conscious decision to be ninety minutes of endless violence instead.
Despite featuring some absolutely horrendous "dubbing" from those involved in the post-production and editing areas (the voices on every black character are comically cringe-inducing), most of Contamination's actual cast does a fairly admirable job in the acting department. Ian McCulloch. also of Zombi 2 fame, is a likable protagonist who while initially reluctant to revisit something that obviously scarred him, eventually becomes more than game to just go with the flow of things. It was pretty fun to watch him (along with Marino Mase's over-the-top wiseass cop) at every moment while jointly immersing ourselves in this astronaut's immensely strange, horrific backstory. Louise Marleau brings an occasional pout-heavy, soap opera-level type of performance with her to the flick, but it just ends up increasing one's enjoyment of the entire experience. Still, I feel as though I will never get over seeing any crew distinctly mouth the proper words from the script on screen, only to have somebody clearly not on their same level butcher what they worked so hard at doing correctly. While the aforementioned departments seemingly failed here and there in the realm of voiceovers, they more than made up for it by working on other tasks. The sound effects of the eggs themselves is incredibly creepy, and one wonders if the eerie humming that they emit is coming from the inside of their shells or from the faint, luminescent glow that surrounds them. It's the type of noise that you would absolutely never want to hear if you were attempting to go to sleep (or if you open the refrigerator for breakfast). Better yet, Contamination is blessed to have its score composed by beloved Italian progressive rock band Goblin, whose work on a plethora of pictures from directing great Dario Argento has cemented their legacy in the genre. Truth be told, their pieces help Cozzi's picture save itself on more than one occasion when it begins to lull or if it nearly jumps into the territory of being too silly. When the primary culprit behind these incidents is revealed (tell me you won't get a Mother Brain vibe from this monstrosity), their tracks give off a sense of fascination that easily resonates with the audience, while simultaneously syncing up perfectly with the newly-instilled fear in our protagonists.
Thank goodness for pictures like Contamination. It isn't a particularly great movie per se, and as hinted at, the second half does tend to drag for a bit (though it's turned right back up to eleven during the final twelve minutes), but the amount of heart and B-grade grandeur put into it does make for a rather good way to kill some time. Think of this entry as a pleasantly memorable pit stop in between looking for other foreign productions in the world of horror and peculiar science fiction. Or, if you want to make a more appropriate comparison for the newer generation that reads this, it is as if The Asylum actually knew how to properly make a motion picture with a small budget and honest-to-god effort. If your curiosity has been peaked, a myriad of ways to watch this bad boy online or in person are available. There's YouTube, Amazon Prime, and even a ridiculously packed Blu-Ray from Arrow Video that is readily available for purchase.
And come on, you know that you want to give your money to a grown man who colorized, edited, and released the original Godzilla: King of the Monsters in his home country during 1977. Right?.......Right?
.....okay, I SWEAR that will be the last reference to another god damn kaiju movie on here for at least the rest of the month!
Tomorrow, it is time to catch up yet again with one of the masters of horror literature, and I regale you with a tale from my high school years related to the work in question!
When the Japanese coast guard discovers an abandoned boat in Tokyo Bay, their vessel is suddenly attacked by something beneath the waves. Afterwards, the city's most famous aqua-line begins to flood and collapse, causing Japan's government to investigate and ponder as to what could caused such sudden destruction. Cabinet Secretary Rando Yaguchi believes that these incidents were caused by a large, living creature, but his ideas are initially dismissed as nonsense. Later on, the young man's theory is confirmed to be true, as a massive entity makes its way ashore, slithers and crawls across the land, causes massive property damage, and piles up casualties before a proper evacuation can take place. With the Prime Minister reluctant to jump into action, the beast then suddenly stands on its hind legs and returns to the sea. Curious about what to do in the case of a repeat offense, Yaguchi is assigned to a crew that will do extensive research on the unknown monster, who speculate that not only does "Godzilla" as it is dubbed, a product of nuclear fission, but that mutation within its genetics is also a strong possibility. No sooner is this new idea confirmed when Godzilla makes landfall again; only angrier, and much, much larger in size.
Just when I thought that I was out, the powers that be manage to pull me back in.
In the case of the recently-released Shin Gojira/Godzilla (its original distribution title was set to be Godzilla Resurgence, but another feature in the realm of science fiction unfortunately put an end to that), these collective individuals are not just the giants at long-running studio and distributor Toho, but another group of outsiders who have a very respectable reputation of their own. When news first broke of Japan beginning production on the thirty-first entry in the franchise (he has even surpassed James Bond in the numbers department!), excitement was brewing around the world. But who, we were asking, would be helming the project this time around? Before his most recent hiatus had started, the kaiju's last outing in his native country was 2004's rather divisive Godzilla: Final Wars, which despite being led by the very talented Ryuhei Kitamura, is a picture that I personally still go back and forth on. Within a short amount of time, two recognizable names in the realm of niche/geeky culture popped up, and were thusly attached to write and direct: Hideaki Anno and Shinji Higuchi.
For those unfamiliar with the duo, I will give the best summation that someone who is very caffeine-deprived possibly can. During the 1990s, Anno created the immensely popular and influential Japanese animated series titled Neon Genesis Evangelion. The show (and its subsequent reboot films) wore its love for Kaiju Eiga, Tokusatsu, and odd science fiction works on its sleeve, but managed to inject it with a remarkable amount of intensely personal character drama, religious references, existential crises, and philosophical elements that made it stand above the rest of the pack. Yes, it is in essence an anime about giant mechs fighting monsters that have come to destroy our planet and begin the next extinction event, but it really is a fascinating piece of work that was unlike anything else coming out during that time. Higuchi, however, has a bit more of a familiar background in this type of field, having worked on a number of beloved entries in the realm of monster movies such as Shusuke Kaneko's tremendous Gamera trilogy, where he provided direction on their special effects, and sitting in the main man's chair for the live-action adaptations of fan favorite series Attack on Titan. Needless to say, most believed that we were in good hands, and would probably be in for a treat that would most assuredly stand out on its own.
So, there are quite a few questions that come to mind for longtime fans of the Big G in regards to Shin Gojira. The first (and most likely frequently uttered) one is wondering how can you possibly revamp or retool the King of the Monsters to where you don't lose sight of what makes him so spectacular or popular. Well, the very basic way to do that is to once again, make him the symbol of the horrors of war and the nuclear nightmare. For this entry, we are completely back to square one, as Anno & Higuchi's picture is not a sequel of any sort, but a brand new film with absolute no ties to any other flick sporting the name. It is ironic that something which shares a lot in common tonally with the 1954 granddaddy of them all ignores its existence. And yet, it works for the best. Shin Gojira imagines what would occur if a giant, radioactive beast, brought about by our own arrogance and disregard for the planet's safety, appeared above ground for the first time in the new millennium, and how a drastically different political landscape would choose to deal with it. The idea to just immediately rush armed personnel into battle or to drop weapons from the sky onto him sounds fine in theory, but considering how much Japan has gone through over the past several decades (and even dating back to 1945), that is easier said than done. Why risk turning the city into a graveyard again if the potential for a safer, more sensible solution is there? And yet, if we don't take immediate, aggressive action, will the rest of the world view us as weak? These type of questions were also raised in this year's first pick for the marathon, but Anno and his crew explore it MUCH better than even I could describe, with the man even citing 2010's The Social Network as an inspiration for how he wanted his performers to act and speak in regards to body language or speed. This could stand out as perhaps the most talkative, savvy, and (pardon the pun) human version of a Godzilla movie that we have ever seen. Think The West Wing with the main conflict surrounding a fire-breathing creature slowly rampaging across the land.
Of course, the second question is what will Godzilla look like? To say that we have seen some questionable redesigns during his sixty-two years of reigning over earth would be an understatement if there ever was one. Well, once again taking a cue from their previous sources of inspiration, we get the most nightmarish iteration of the colossal behemoth that we have seen in a very, very long time. For the first time in the history of this franchise, we see the gigantic, mutated dinosaur actually......well, mutate. Admittedly, his first form does look a bit goofy (and is a bit heavy on the CGI), sporting some almost comical features in the facial department, but when you come to the realization that this is only its debut "stage" and is a mere infant, the factors of dread and worrying kick in. It is when he makes his return to the land that we see the truly horrific, almost decrepit-looking version that has made numerous appearances on posters and the like. It is yet another throwback to the original 1954 picture, as they are attempting to scare the audience, or at the very least, make them feel a bit uncomfortable. His appearance as decaying, oddly-formed monstrosity could be seen as a metaphor for where society is as a whole in 2016. Godzilla doesn't appear to be dead, but he's just sort of....rotting (can of coke to whoever gets that reference). This version is also portrayed primarily through the means of motion capture, lumbering along like a true force of nature. Of course, he does get a chance to show off his iconic radioactive breath (as well as some other new tricks), and this is where Higuchi's craft shines. While witnessing his absolute demolition of cities and their military forces, it blew my mind that the individual himself has never been asked to head the effects department on any project overseas, as I believe that his work can rival anything that a U.S. film studio can produce. When this reviewer's own dad can muster the phrase "I'll tell you what, those were some incredible special effects," then you know that your grandeur and praise is warranted. Pieces of Akira Ifukube's original scores for Toho also turn up during moments of destruction and preparation (as does a remixed version of Anno favorite "Decisive Battle"), but Shiro Sagisu's (Bleach, Neon Genesis Evangelion) new compositions do the dearly departed composer justice. They feel like a grandiose mixture of intensity and optimism, while sprinkling in this feeling of dread which implies that we could see the end of the world quicker than we expected.
Though it is only playing for a mere week (technically, until October 18th) in theaters, Shin Gojira feels like it should be seen by more than just a small, selective audience. It is not just a unique beast of a motion picture, but is culturally important for Godzilla's country of origin. It is continuously exploring themes and views that could expose some more ignorant moviegoers to just how convoluted and stressful the entire system and government hierarchy can be over there (though it's easy to get lost with just how many human characters pop up; listing subtitles of their position above their heads). When you consider how unpleasant morale and mindsets were in the areas following the 2011 earthquake and tsunami that did innumerable amounts of damage to the land of the rising sun, the movie's tendency to boost people's emotions again is admirable. Some of the ideas spread throughout do suggest that we ourselves would not hesitate to jump right in and just bomb the ever-loving hell out of whatever problem arises around the world (the U.S. even sends a Japanese-American woman over as a messenger/negotiator for dropping nukes on her grandmother's country, and she comically speaks just as much English as she does her native tongue), but to be fair, they aren't entirely wrong. In fact, it could seriously benefit some politicians who also fancy trips to the multiplex to see Shin Gojira and analyze some of their own beliefs while they are at it. Even though I enjoyed 2014's stateside Godzilla reboot more than most seemed to (please don't come back to me saying that there isn't enough of him in this either, because if you've ever watched ANY of the prior films, you know that his screen time isn't as prevalent as you would think it is), this feels like more a proper return for one of the most memorable, thunderous, cantankerous, and respected fictional characters in the realm of science fiction. Go buy tickets for this as soon as you can, see it in a theater with great sound, and respect the legend Bubba.
Anyway, if you are one of the types who just wishes to skip to the end of my review, or just don't want to read the whole shebang to finally hear my opinion, I'll just quickly summarize it with a nice YouTube song below.
Tomorrow, we take a trip to Italy with a tale of exploding eggs, gore, and a soundtrack led by legendary progressive rock band Goblin!
Tourists and islanders residing at a nice resort have been randomly disappearing, and local authorities can not seem to figure out how or why. Suddenly, the....the....
Okay. During the seven years that I have been doing this marathon, I have never quit watching any of the flicks that I consciously pick to be featured. 1979's Up from the Depths, which is yet another "natural" horror flick that exists solely because of Jaws' success, came the closest out of any of these to finally breaking me down. Every time that I got up to accomplish something productive for the day, I had to do my absolute damnedest to convince myself to come back to it. I got up to eat macaroni and cheese for lunch (healthy food, how does it work?), grab a prescription for a sick family member, and do a large load of laundry. Each moment could be considered a "distraction" from my reviewing process, but I cared so little about returning to finish this sorry excuse for a production.
Trying to pick out the biggest flaw found during Up from the Depths' running time is like trying to choose which puddle of vomit you wish to lick. Maybe its worst aspect was the extraordinarily lazy and laughable acting or the dialogue that seems like it was written on a bar napkin in the span of four hours. I felt so terrible for top star Sam Bottoms (Apocalypse Now, The Last Picture Show) having to be stuck with such dreadful material and dialogue, but in my opinion, he didn't get the worst end of the stick. Nope, that unfortunate honor belongs to director Charles B. Griffith (a longtime ally and cohort of B-movie giant Roger Corman), who also wrote notable cinematic releases like Death Race 2000 and the original Little Shop of Horrors. According to interviews that were conducted before his passing in 2007, the entire experience of writing, shooting, and finalizing Up from the Depths was a real nightmare, and he felt that Corman gave it to him as punishment (for what I'm not sure). The idea to retool and re-release the flick as a comedy came up as well, but it seems as though the man did not get his wish.
A very tiny part of me feels rotten for not giving this a proper summation of my thoughts, but seeing how little effort they clearly put into Up from the Depths, I feel that I should return the favor myself by only giving half a shit when discussing it. Aside from the sheer cheapness of the entire thing (this creature's design could have been improved by just having it be a hand puppet ala Lamb Chop), its most interesting fact comes from the revelation that it played on a double bill alongside of David Cronenberg's The Brood. So yes, let this sink in for a bit: a movie that was recently handpicked to be part of the esteemed Criterion Collection was featured alongside of a picture that is currently ranked at 2.6 on the Internet Movie Database. If there was ever the cinematic equivalent of a Minus Five Stars match (shoutout to Bryan Alvarez of F4W), this shamefully awful, boring, tedious piece of crap would be it. A Blu-Ray of the feature is (unfortunately) readily available for purchase from Scream! Factory, and as luck would have it, the film comes packaged with its very loose remake titled Demon of Paradise. And no, I will not be reviewing that aforementioned picture. I think I need a break from ocean-dwelling creatures, thank you very much.
Though I have absolutely no desire to ever revisit this turdagain in the foreseeable future, it did get me thinking about something else that came up from the depths. In fact, for tomorrow's entry, the star of said film is thirty stories high, breathing fire, and has its head in the sky......
I'm not going to lie: there were multiple options and choices that could have made their way onto the countdown for the day that commemorates my own date of birth. The temptation to venture out and compile a "Top 10" list for something like The Simpsons' "Treehouse of Horror" episodes was certainly there, as was discussing my favorite and least favorite remakes found within the genre itself. Then, I realized there was a crossover between the realm of terror and another longtime interest (that could arguably be considered a vice) that I had never touched on before: WCW's series of shows that were charmingly-dubbed Halloween Havoc.
For those of you (un)fortunate enough to know me for more than a few years, you should be fully well aware that I have an unabashed adoration and love for the wonderful, wacky, and often-times violent world of professional wrestling. During the years of 1989 and 2000, the now-defunct promotion known as World Championship Wrestling ran an annual Pay-Per-View titled Halloween Havoc, which was always guaranteed to take place as close to the holiday that it shares its namesake with. These shows have been notorious for featuring some absolutely great moments in the history of the sport (Bill Goldberg v. Diamond Dallas Page from 1998, Dean Malenko v. Rey Misterio Jr. in 1996), and others that are best left drowned with multiple bottles of moonshine (pretty much any match featuring Hulk/Hollywood Hogan as a featured attraction). During one particular day of reminiscing, I came to the realization that I have never watched the inaugural Havoc itself. And, given that this is my own blog and I can be allowed to stray from the path once in a while, I figured heck, let's give this a try. Also, I must apologize for any spoilers, but there's a good chance that most who decide to read about this one will be fairly apathetic towards wrestling anyway.
Taking place at the long-gone Philadelphia Civic Center in front of a crowd of 7,300 paying customers, we kick off the show with the voices of a very young Jim Ross, who damn near any fan of the sport will be able to identify within a span of three seconds, and Bob Caudle of NWA fame. My familiarity with the latter is admittedly very poor, but he plays the role of the classic announcer fairly well, choosing to take no side before, during, or after the matches. It is during this introduction where I noticed that the immortal Gordon Solie (Georgia Championship Wrestling) has been relegated to working as a backstage interviewer for this PPV, which seems like the biggest of insults.
Opener: Mike Rotunda (sporting a sketchy mustache) vs The Z-Man
This one had the potential to either surprise or bore me to death. Unfortunately, I think it fell closer into the second category, as the performers themselves just do not have good in-ring chemistry with one another. Younger fans will recognize Rotunda as both evil tax collector Irwin R. Schyster (I.R.S.....what subtlety these companies had) and the father of current WWE signees Bray Wyatt and Bo Dallas. His opponent is Tom Zenk, who despite facing the former caption of the evil stable known as "The Varsity Club" (he's still sporting their initials on his attire), the crowd can't seem to decide if they like or not. Personally, I've always been fairly indifferent to the former Can-Am Connection partner. Is he talented? Sure. Did he scream main card attraction? Well, if you happen to dig people who appear as though they came out of the first floor of the "create-a-wrestler" factory, then perhaps. As for the match itself, it's an affair that lasts for nearly fifteen minutes, with some of the only highlights coming from Zenk hitting a very nice-looking modified arm drag, Rotunda kneeing him in the balls in plain view of the ring official (which apparently does not warrant a disqualification), and the future taxman aggressively tossing the thirty-year-old to the concrete floor, which elicits the loudest reaction of the match. Its end comes from Rotunda landing a diving cross body into a pin, though Zenk just flips him over and racks up the win. At this point on, I was fully convinced that the crowd's noise towards the end came from remembering what was to come after this.
Before our second contest for the evening, we are treated to an interview with wrestling icon Bruno Sammartino, who will be officiating tonight's main event. I often forget that following his nasty fallout with Vince McMahon and the World Wrestling Federation, he did make the occasional appearance for another brand or two. Admittedly, I also clearly couldn't remember how much of an Easter Island head he has as well.
2nd Match: "Dr. Death" Steve Williams & The Midnight Express (w/ Jim Cornette)
vs
The Samoan Swat Team & The Samoan Savage (w/ Big Kahuna)
The white meat, rambunctious good guys from the U.S.A. taking on three Samoan-Americans who are being portrayed as nearly-uncontrollable Neanderthals? Noooo, wrestling has always been racially sensitive you silly goose. In a card that is full of strange bookings and pairings, perhaps the oddest thing to behold is seeing longtime heel Jim Cornette acting like a lively, babyface cheerleader. Opposite of him is Big Kahuna, the newest nickname of underrated 1980s accomplice Sir Oliver Humperdink. Amusingly enough, my only memorable exposure to the Pepsi version of Captain Lou Albano was seeing him as a joyous, happy manager during his very brief tenure in another big name promotion that was owned by someone with the initials VKM.
One of the very first things I noticed about this came from how astonishingly young the Swat Team (who would later be repackaged as The Headshrinkers in WWF) look. The future Rikishi (who shares the same day of birth as I do) was wrestling for the big boys by the time that he was only twenty-four, and unlike his partner, he isn't sporting a housewife/Miss Elizabeth perm during the match. Despite the "foreign" team being advertised as a legitimate danger to deal with, a good chunk of the match's offense goes to the team of Stan Lane, Bobby Eaton, and Williams. Speaking of the latter, it isn't hard to see that this crowd views the former All-American as the main attraction here. He is built like a brick shithouse, acts just as tough as he looks, and is treated like he is a tier above everybody else inside of the arena. Sadly, it still didn't protect him from Bart Gunn's fists of fury. Though it does feature a relatively lame conclusion (and a cringe-inducing botched neckbreaker from the usually reliable Stan Lane), it was more far more enjoyable than our opener.
3rd Match: The Cuban Assassin vs "Wildfire" Tommy Rich
We are lucky enough to be treated to an interview with Terry Funk and his manager Gary Hart. Technically, it happens right before this clash begins, but I feel that it deserves a special mention because these two are just a hoot to listen to. The hardcore icon says that he is going to start a new dance called the "10,000 watt boogie," and will introduce fried chicken to the audience after they push Ric Flair against an electrified fence. You just don't make promos like these anymore, though perhaps that is simultaneously good and bad.
Another reason as to why I decided to have that precede the review of this match was because of how atrocious this was. With all due respect, Rich is in terrible shape here, looking like he spent most of his paychecks on purchasing cheeseburgers topped with fried oreos. Truth be told, neither of these two men is an Adonis specimen, but given the very faint chant of "Tommy Rich Sucks" that I heard, I believe that physical appearances would have been irrelevant anyway. Clocking in at under nine minutes, the only non-boring aspect comes from the finish, which involves Rich landing a Lou Thesz Press (utilized later by Steve Austin and Randy Orton) and turning it into a pin. I know for a fact that both men can do better than this, but this felt like a relic from the 1960s that should have stayed buried. Don't waste your time.
4th Match: The Dynamic Dudes (w/ Jim Cornette)
vs
(C) The Fabulous Freebirds for the NWA Tag Team Championship
Though I know that I have a plethora of friends who have fond memories related to them, I will stir up the pot a bit here: The Dynamic Dudes are awful. Mind you, not as in-ring performers, but the gimmick is so unbelievably dumb that it was no wonder they were booed in Philly (and this was BEFORE the rowdy crowds of ECW started turning up). I'm sure WCW's Executive Vice President Jim Herd thought that they were going to be adored, but if your tag team can't even ride the skateboards that they jog to the ring with, then you are just asking for trouble. At the very least, Shane Douglas can breathe easy knowing that in less than ten years' time, he will be able to convince the crowd to eat out of his hands when he is rebranded as "The Franchise." Despite my immense dislike for Michael Hayes as a person, he and Jimmy Garvin are just fantastic here. No matter what the heels do, this gathering is ecstatic to see them in their own city, and cheer during every single cheap shot thrown by the duo. There are several spots of comical selling by the man later renamed "Dok Hendrix," and several chants for the wrestling maneuver known as the DDT. Yes, I know that the man most famously affiliated with it didn't actual invent the move, but it still weirds me out to hear a crowd call for that finisher whenever he isn't around. Johnny Ace, a.k.a. John Laurinaitis (yes, that one) manages to pull off a nice duel headscissors takedown on the Freebirds, but once the heels are ousted from the ring because of it, he is drowned with jeers and hatred by the Philadelphia crowd yet again. This very entertaining scrap wraps up after Garvin gets the pin off of a botched atomic drop from both members of the DD.
We move on to a backstage discussion with Rick Steiner and brother Scott, who in the future, will be the go-to name once somebody thinks of the term "Roidy McGoo." The Steiner Brothers' mic skills have always been....well, unique, and they even flub this promo at first, with Rick just kinda rambling on afterwards. If they wished to give the impression that he may, in fact, be mildly retarded, then you passed that test with flying colors. When asked about what will happen if previous accomplice Woman makes the conscious choice to interfere in the match, he implies that he is going to grab her and choke her out. Yikes. Eerily prophetic anyone?
5th Match: The Steiner Brothers (w/ a GREAT entrance theme)
v.
Doom (w/ Woman)
For those curious, Doom, who were making their PPV debut here, are the masked team of "The Natural" Butch Reed and future WWE Hall of Famer Ron "Faarooq" Simmons. Much like their opponents, they are yoked, muscular titans. Mercifully, the African American duo would lose their disguises not long after this, and they were lucky enough to avoid being attached to any gimmick such as, say, a pair of wrestling slaves. Keep it classy southern promoters. Several minutes in, commentator Jim Ross divulges a funny conversation that he had with Rick Steiner that relates to the babyface's newest bulldog tattoo on his arm.
Ross: You got a new tattoo! Why didn't get something like a wolverine?
Rick: Because I wanted a dog.
Ross: Well, why didn't you just BUY a dog?
The Oklahoma native also mentions that before his brother convinced him to join the wonderful, wacky world of wrestling, Scott was supposed to become a school teacher. Though such a dream will sadly never come to fruition, I can certainly imagine what it would sound like.
All jokes aside, something just doesn't seem to gel here. Perhaps it was the jitters from new arrivals Doom, or the nervousness about following the previous tag match. This surprisingly boring affair ends with Woman sneaking something into one of her performers' masks behind the referee's back, which they use to headbutt and knock out Rick with, leading to a pinfall. All four of these men are supremely skilled, but perhaps watching their rematch down the line for the tag belts (and the Steiners' own feud with the Freebirds) would have made for a better viewing choice.
Lex Lu---erm, excuse me. To quote the lads over at OSWreview.com, time for an interview with YER BOI LEX LUGER, a.k.a. the future NARCISIST. Though nowhere near as jacked as he would be later on in his career, he is just as arrogant. But for the love of god, look at Gordon Solie for even just a second when you're talking. I believe that the best promos conducted during pre-recorded segments should have equal amounts of time dedicated to staring at the camera and the correspondent.
6th Match: Brian Pillman (w/ cheerleader section and a very thrashy entrance song)
vs
(C) Lex Luger for the United States Championship
Oh man, if you can not get behind seeing this duo face each other in their prime, then you may need to check your pulse. "Flyin" Brian is in phenomenal shape here, and it's a damn shame that drugs and injuries shortened his career before he passed eight years later. For those who complain about the forced, obnoxious push of guys like Roman Reigns, I would politely ask that you need to shut your mouth and pay attention to how much fellating the 1994 Royal Rumble co-winner received during the late 1980s. Having only been competing in the sport for a mere four years at this point, he had already held this prestigious title three times, and our beloved commentary team make it a point to continuously rain praise upon him when he's doing even the most basic of moves like a running clothesline or picking Pillman up to drop him on the ropes throat first. On the positive end of the spectrum, he seems to be relishing portraying a pseudo-tweener during this time period. My eye-rolling aside, the two take some time to find their footing and chemistry with one another, and end up turning in a solid middle-of-the-card matchup (save for an awkward ending). It's a damn shame that neither of these men are in the WWE's Hall of Fame, as they have long been deserving of it (the same can be said of the Steiner Brothers).
Our second-to-last backstage meeting involves Paul Ellering and his clientele, the legendary Road Warriors. Though the articulate and intelligent manager is just sort of hanging in the shadows behind Hawk, all three are just so fucking great at doing their job.
7th Match: The Skyscrapers (w/ Theodore "Teddy" Long)
vs
The Road Warriors (w/ Paul Ellering)
Hey playa! The renowned Smackdown General Manager comes out first, accompanying a rather monstrous-looking team comprised of Sid "Don't Call Me Psycho Just Yet" Vicious and Dan "Please Don't Bring Up Waylon Mercy" Spivey. As intimidating as they may look, they aren't The Legion of Doom, who come out to an instrumental, looping version of Black Sabbath's "Iron Man." In a peculiar observation, the new heels actually dwarf the NWA veterans, but that doesn't seem to bother them whatsoever. As the contest began, I managed to type "If they know what's good for them, this ought to be booked mostly as a straight up brawl with tons of no-selling." Well, I am glad that late-80s WCW knew their audience rather well. Sid and Dan (who looks like Kiefer Sutherland's character from The Lost Boys, but with even worse hair) show some potential, with the former even kipping up from his back at one point to attack Hawk. Cheekily, the commentators state that "when they attack them, the Skyscrapers don't move," which immediately leads to Animal knocking Vicious to the ground with a strong-looking tackle. Though it was far from being considered a technical marvel, this bout makes for hellacious amusement. It's the type of competition that your family thinks of when you mention being a fan of this over-the-top sport. Sadly, the fun comes to a screeching halt, as Teddy Long tosses a giant metal key for his team to utilize as a weapon, which leads to a disqualification. For as much as I respected the Road Warriors for their contributions to the business, their frequent inability to lose clean did annoy me quite a bit. I mean, would losing to a couple of gigantic newcomers have hurt their stock in the long run? Hell, even Chris Jericho lost to Fandango, and that took place at WRESTLEMANIA.
By this point, I have come to the conclusion that despite the branding, there has been little in the way of Halloween-themed material at this event. Perhaps the only thing could be constituted as "scary" has been Sid Vicious' angry faces and massive shoulders. That, and the mere thought of Vince McMahon watching the last two tag team contests while furiously masturbating. So, will there be anything interesting related to my favorite month for the final thirty minutes?
8th/Final Match: Sting & Ric Flair (w/ Ole Anderson)
vs
Terry Funk & The Great Muta (w/ Gary Hart) in a Thunderdome match.
Special guest Referee: Bruno Sammartino.
The answer to this question is a resounding.....eh, I guess. Unlike the construction that bears the same name, this is merely a larger steel cage surrounding the ring, with no top to climb over. In a way, it's a precursor to one of WWE's more infamous setups, but with the added bonus of cobwebs and décor scattered across every corner and the looming threat of it supposedly being electrified (it never comes into play). Bruno has agreed to watch over this bout, and under company rules, the first team whose manager throws in the towel or audibly says to stop the match will be the losers. The heels are out first, with Funk even getting water thrown at him by an irate fan. It's a damn shame that stuff like this doesn't occur anymore, but like CM Punk said, if you argue or respond back to them in any sort of unconventional way (be it in person or on social media), they reprimand you for these actions and force you to apologize for not going off script. No, I don't think it makes a lick of sense either. Muta, who looks so youthful and vibrant here, is considered an icon in the realm of Japanese wrestling, but outside of some cool-looking spots that include an enziguri kick to the back of Ric Flair's head (OUCH), he felt very interchangeable during this final bout. Funk feels the need to test out the flimsiness of this cage by climbing it on multiple occasions, which depending on the situation, makes him out to be appear like an equal mixture of a nutjob and an idiot. Perhaps the edifice's charge was about as real as the Mountie's cattle prod.
During several points of the fight, Flair hits Funk with a knife edge chop that looked like it was powerful enough to cave a hole in a human being's chest. Sting is quite popular with the Philly crowd as well, who are thoroughly on board with the good guys during this timed exchange. Towards the end, Ric locks the Funkster in a Figure Four Leg Lock, with his surfin', do-goodin' partner landing repeated top rope slashes to the psychotic one's upper body while he is fearing for the safety of his legs. Muta, who at this point had just been acting uppity towards our guest ref, attempts to attack the WWWF legend, and gets decked for his actions. With managers Gary Hart and Ole Anderson both now in the ring, the latter hits the former hard enough that his own towel is accidentally tossed towards Bruno. Not even questioning as to whether it was a genuine surrender and admittance of defeat, it concludes with the longtime rivals (but then-current allies) raising their hands in victory.
In terms of sheer silliness, 1989's Halloween Havoc could have been far worse, yet is ultimately just remarkably average when you collect all of your thoughts and opinions into a single, discernable one. Aside from the Rich & Assassin match, nothing repulsed me or gave me a headache. In fact, maybe I should make it a habit to do more of these in my spare time! Alas, that shall depend on how much, if any free time that I will have coming up during these next few months. If you have a small allowance of $9.99, you can watch this debut PPV from WCW on the WWE's own streaming service.
Now, if you want me to review a truly terrifying special involving professional wrestling, then I should add THIS bad boy to my list for next year.
Tomorrow, it's back to business as usual, as we tackle another entry in the natural horror field that is often derided by even its own director.....though if luck is on my side, we may see another appearance from a more infamous goliath with far more hype behind him....
All across Manhattan, people have been disappearing or turning up dead under mysterious circumstances. While police initially suspect this to be the work of a serial killer, the main culprit has actually been a soaring serpent, a seemingly resurrected version of the legendary Aztec deity named Quetzalcoatl. It's attacks are brief, yet horrific; they rain blood and limbs from a lacerated sky, scattering all over the city and shocking pedestrians down below. Perplexed as to how and why these gruesome assaults are taking place, the force suddenly finds that luck may be on their side after all. A wannabe conman named Jimmy Quinn knows of Quetzalcoatl's location, but isn't so willing to give up the information. Well, at least not for free.
Well hello Larry Cohen! I didn't realize that three whole years have gone by since you last made an appearance during Unseen Terror. Oddly enough though, his 1982 foray into the crossover realm of fantasy-based horror, the strangely-titled Q - The Winged Serpent (alternately known as simply Q), somehow feels the least like a production from the man himself. There doesn't seem to be any sort of underlying message about abortion or parental instincts like in It's Alive, or the anti-consumerism that permeated throughout the absurdly silly experience known as The Stuff. Instead, this tale about a flying, man-eating creature with ties to the Aztec civilization just feels like a big, gory love letter to bizarre science fiction and fantasy works from titans such as Ray Harryhausen (Jason and the Argonauts, The 7th Voyage of Sinbad) and that individual's own mentor Willis O'Brien (King Kong).
The titular monster is brought to life by the use of stop-motion effects, which was actually considered to be an ancient and outdated method by the time that this film was released to cinemas (this criticism was also echoed for 1981's Clash of the Titans). Thankfully, Q's own screen time is primarily kept to brief glimpses and cameos (save for the final ten minutes), and that may end being a good thing, seeing as how suffocating the audience with too much of it could have actually detracted from the surprisingly enjoyable human cast that acts alongside of it (more on that below). Q's design resembles that of a larger version of a Dimorphodon, with Randall William Cook (Lord of the Rings) and David W. Allen (The Howling, Honey, I Shrunk the Kids) providing some neat, if not sparse effects that ultimately do the forefathers of the genre proud. Old-fashioned as it may look to newer viewers, there is just such a unique charm to the thing that you can't help but grin at every time that she (yes, it is female) swoops down to feed on hapless sunbathers. Heck, when the freakish demigod isn't busy feasting on poor suckers or posing for that really awesome-looking poster that you see above (submitted by Heavy Metal Magazine notable Boris Vallejo), she even gets the opportunity to fight Shaft (Richard Roundtree) for a minute or so!
Oh, I did mention the collection of human actors above, didn't I? Well, yes, there are some delightfully entertaining performances to be found throughout Q. Its two main attractions (other than the airborne man-eater itself) are Michael Moriarty (Law & Order) and the late David Carradine (Kung Fu, Kill Bill). Both are pretty exceptional when you consider the subject matter here. The former tends to steal the show during every opportune chance that he is afforded. He's a real riot, playing the greediest, sneakiest of lowlifes who isn't evil per se, but in reality, is just a gigantic asshole. You are most certain that you would never wish to be friends with the guy, but his charisma and delivery of some occasionally cringe-worthy dialogue is just undeniably fun. I legitimately had to stop and rub my eyes when I saw the name Malachy McCourt pop up during the opening credits, since I was apparently unware that the brother of Angela's Ashes author Frank McCourt had delved into the world of acting after his family endured and survived one of the most hellacious childhoods that I have ever read about. Seeing him smoke a pipe, sport an ill-fitting, in & out English accent, and playing a hardened police commissioner is so peculiar.
Before I watched Q, I was trying to wash the taste of the mediocre The Girl on the Train out of my mouth. Thus, even with the amount of fun that I was provided with Cohen's killer dragon movie, I feel as though this might require another viewing in the next few months. There are more than a handful of enjoyable moments and surprises to keep you glued to the screen (and come on, that tagline is way too gnarly to ignore), even if the unfortunate side story involving a string of murders related to human sacrifice does distract a bit from what you have paid to see. Personally, I would not be completely opposed to seeing Q receive the revival or remake treatment one day (technically, this is a reimagining of a 1946 motion picture bearing a similar title), but if you want to keep the same magic alive, you should retain the same stop-motion animation that made this so beloved by fans of cult classic cinema. Q - The Winged Serpent is readily available to rent on Amazon Prime and ITunes, streaming for free on YouTube, and can be purchased on Blu-Ray for less than ten dollars on the aforementioned Amazon as well.
Besides, if this were to receive an update, there isn't any way in hell that it could be worse than the redoing of Cohen's own It's Alive, right? At least the possibility of Bijou Phillips appearing again is slim to none.
Tomorrow (well, technically today), I am turning 31. Hooray. To celebrate, I shall be discussing something special that crosses horror with one of my other favorite hobbies and interests that has surprisingly stood the test of time!
Young Chicago native Marissa Kendall buys a tiny, baby alligator as a present for herself, but during one fateful day, the child's father angrily flushes the new pet down the toilet. Many years pass, and the town's head scientists have been experimenting with a growth formula that is supposed to help with agriculture. Though the initial results are proven to be a success, they have to be abandoned due to a side effect that builds an insatiable appetite in their test animals. Unbeknownst to them, a creature residing in the sewers has grown immensely due to feeding on the discarded carcasses of their laboratory subjects, and has been moving on to larger, more active prey. Marissa, who has now grown up into a herpetologist, teams up with police officer David Madison to investigate some odd sightings and disappearances related to something rumbling down below the city, and after it begins to pop up above ground, they estimate that the voracious crocodilian's length is over that of thirty-six feet. Needless to say, it must be stopped.
If you are a longtime reader of my little blog, you will know that I have gone into detail about the large number of "natural" horror films that were released in the wake of Steven Spielberg's breakout blockbuster Jaws. But for every Grizzlyor Piranha (which shares the same screenplay writer as this)that was sent into theaters, we were also treated to piles of garbage like Barracuda or Devil Fish. Why, even the flick that started it all received a follow-up or two of its own, just so audiences would have their sweet tooth for human dismemberment satiated, even if it was for only ninety minutes. It makes the most amount of sense that eventually, somebody would pay attention to just how silly this subgenre was becoming, and five years after one of the greatest directors of all time warned us of the dangers of the ocean, the future director of Cat's Eye and Cujo would deliver a picture to audiences that was solid enough to both poke fun at these movies, while also remembering how to provide for some very solid entertainment in a field that was being dragged down by mediocrity.
Most contemporary motion pictures such as Alligator would believe that by playing their cards right, it would be safe to choose the easy route and present their product as a straight-forward, basic "monster on the loose" movie, which ensures a respectable, if not very average box office intake. While there are often moments that present themselves as just that, most of the flick delves into the self-aware territory that makes some particular B-movies or unexpected comedies worth repeated viewings. Of course, I am not trying to say that a film featuring an oversized gator chomping on rich yuppies at a wedding reception is up there with the best of the worst, but the chunks of John Sayles' script that are fully satirical make it work that much better (though I do wish that the original idea concocted by co-writer Frank Ray Perilli had stayed intact, as it took place in Milwaukee and involved beer consumption as the culprit behind the behemoth's growth). It has all the characteristics and necessities of a "natural" horror flick: a scumbag mayor, a hunter with prior knowledge of how to take down animals as large as these, a smartass scientist, and a cop who doesn't have time for all of this shit. Hell, we're even treated to a child death courtesy of the monstrous antagonist! Robert Forster (Jackie Brown) plays the latter adult human character, and he is appropriately treating the whole experience like a black comedy. Sadly, nobody else really stands out in the cast, but at the end of the day, it's forgivable.
Alligator's fun factor isn't solely limited to the acting or dialogue though, as the technical aspects (if you can call them that) aren't anything to scoff at either. Like its obvious inspiration, the titular creature is mostly animatronic, and does look pretty good for the few moments where it is seen in the shadows or with as little light creeping in as possible. Ironically also like "Bruce," it had multiple malfunctions during filming, and was eventually donated to college football team the Florida Gators to be used as a mascot after everything had wrapped up. He does get lucky enough to gnaw on more than a handful of idiotic pedestrians and fools before finding himself back underground (sorry for the slight spoiler). There is a rather wonderful moment involving our villainous creation just hanging out in an alley after he bursts through solid concrete on the street, and it feels like something that could have fit in just fine with one of the better SyFy channel productions that rarely come out these days.
Does Alligator feel a bit flawed or dated? Well, sure. But considering that most of these flicks were churned out with such little regard for actual quality in mind (which reminds me: man do I still hate Barracuda), it is head and heels above a good portion of its contemporaries. If you're willing to just sit back, put on a smile, and drink in/during the whole thing, Lewis Teague's reptilian rampage makes for a good time killer. Unfortunately, the DVD for this effort runs for more than even I think it is worth, and until a company as reputable as Arrow Video or Scream! Factory picks it up for distribution, the easiest method for one to watch it is via websites such as YouTube or Amazon Video.
Besides, there are far worse ways for you to waste your precious minutes...
Oh come on, you knew that you could sense that joke coming from a mile away.
In the first half of the 1990s, it seemed as though every single cult favorite from the precious horror period of the prior decade received a surprise sequel. This was the case for gems such as Stan Winston's Pumpkinhead, Kevin S. Tenney's Night of the Demons, and Lewis Teague's Alligator. Why were these occurring you ask? My guess is that the higher ups at certain studios were bored, figuring that one can make a follow-up without requiring any semblance of a budget because some (but not all) horror fans are putzes, and we are willing to watch damn near anything that you drop into our laps. That, or there was an insane amount of cocaine being snorted, which resulted in them running into a video store and perusing the aisles for ideas.
In all seriousness though, I feel that the need to write a synopsis for Alligator 2: The Mutation is wholly unnecessary, as the movie is undeserving of one. Save for some minor changes, the plot is a duplicate of its predecessor, with toxic waste in place of enhanced, deceased test animals. These include the same character stereotypes such as corrupt politicians, a grizzled cop with more than a few wisecracks up his sleeve (played this time by Joseph Bologna of Blame it on Rio & Superman: The Animated Series fame), a female scientist who assists the crew (portrayed by a sadly wooden Dee Wallace), a gator hunter whose tools and techniques are ultimately useless against the creature, and more useless piles of flesh than even I can not recall. Perhaps the only interesting performers who show up in the picture are professional wrestlers Toru Tanaka and Alexis Smirnoff, who amusingly appear in a nightclub that apparently treats the sport as real, with the film's human antagonist stating that he has "fixed" the fights for the evening. If this sequel had centered solely around the NWA and WWF veterans taking on the gigantic pest that was bothering the city, it would have receive nothing but the highest of accolades from me.
Besides being a retread of the first movie, Alligator 2's secondary problem comes from the fact that it just isn't very entertaining. Even with Bologna doing his best to try and have some fun with the material provided, the film seems to be taking itself a little more seriously this time around, which I feared would be the case after I took a brief glimpse at its page over on imdb.com. So, in the end, what you're left with is an uninspired sequel that isn't cool, isn't funny, isn't particularly gory (although the use of a rocket launcher towards the climax almost makes up for a rather lame massacre that takes place at a carnival), and could constitute as the dullest form of plagiarism. Though it is available to stream on YouTube and the like, I plead that you save your money and brain cells by doing anything more productive.
One more thing before I go: when your release is lazy enough to reuse stock footage from the first picture on more than one occasion, then it proves that you just suck beyond belief. Yes, I'm aware that my beloved Toho did this multiple times during the late 1960s and early 1970s, but their movies still featured a Kaiju with a buzzsaw for a belly & hooks for hands fighting alongside of a three-headed, flying golden dragon. Alligator 2 does not.
I BID YOU GOOD DAY SIR.
Tomorrow, Larry Cohen makes his long-awaited return to Unseen Terror, and we trade the dangers of the sewer for the horrors found in the skies of Manhattan!
