PIÑATA: SURVIVAL ISLAND (2002)

WHAT THE MONSTER TAUGHT ME: Typically, piñatas are meant to be filled with candy and not the tormented souls of the damned.

THE CARD:

The Lost Tribe of Manboobs, Xander the Loxer, My Name is Jaime and I’m a D-Celebrity - Get me the hell out of this movie!, Ensign Kim still completely useless, more insults about Mexicans than a Minuteman picnic, liberal Predator theme lifting, a truly tasteless lynching joke, the worst piñata since my Dame Edna-themed 9th birthday party, Howard the Duck slummin’ it, and Hell Comes to Candyland.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

It’s Cinco de Mayo and you know what that means: time for marine biologists to paaarrrrtaaayyyy! Yeah, well this certain group of butt-dumb Bio majors and frat douches pick the wrong the island to slam tequila and make jokes about tacos. Led by goofy Kyle (Nicholas Brendon) and smoking hot Tina (Jaime Pressly), this pack of drunken mischief-makers arrive on Demon Island (note to horny partiers: stay away from ANYTHING named “Demon”), home to a legend about some tubby tribe that imprisoned evil spirits inside clay piñatas. Yeah. But instead of cool Spiderman, Optimus Prime, or Rose McGowan, these piñatas are scary demons with spooky faces, sharp teeth, and intolerance for meddlin’ kids. Guffawing at silly indigenous culture, our plastered pals concoct a treasure hunt where they have to roam the island and collect as many piñatas as possible and maybe get high and bang each other every chance they get. Well, like my many Spring Break experiences, things turn ugly quick and someone ends up with their head in a lap, and not even in a good way. One of the dickhead frat guys messes around with a piñata short of putting his dick in it and releases the full terror of a bloody spade-wielding ceramic homunculus from Hell. But it will take more than a broken broom handle and your drunk uncle who can’t handle the piñata rope to control this papier-mâché rascal from claiming the candy that is your tequila-soaked innards.

THE FINISHER:

Piñata: Survival Island (aka Demon Island) has set new standards for me. One minute – 60 seconds if you are dumb - into this movie I was praying for an unbridled massacre of genocidal proportions to be unleashed upon these irritating characters. That’s gotta be a record. Okay, so you got a giant piñata hunting down stupid teens. Great. Some goofy gore, bad acting, and awful cheeseball effects. Good times for us bad movie lovers. We all laugh at the stupid dialogue and enjoy a chuckle at the poorly rendered CGI and laughable puppetry effects. Everything is fine and bad in B-movie Land. But this is where your pal El Tremendo pulls out his Typical Man card with his major complaint about the movie. Christ Almighty, you got a pre-My Name is Earl Jamie Pressly and she doesn’t even take her top off? Ridiculous! Speaking of which, Jamie is ludicrously hot. The movie also boasts two other former Playboy playmates who don’t even so much as expose their bellybutton. Come on, makers of piñata whoever the hell you are, what were you thinking? Brain smashing by a ceramic puppet = yes. Boobies = no? Huh? What a disgrace to the bulge-less pants of your fans and loyal viewers. Aside from this miscarriage of justice, Piñata: Survival Island isn’t very good, but good enough for a few chuckles with friends. That is, if your friends are straight women, Norcal wimps, or castrados.

THE MAGNETIC MONSTER (1953)

WHAT THE MONSTER TAUGHT ME: First chance I get, I’m burning all my refrigerator magnets.

THE CARD:

Richard Carlson: Chubby Chaser, a bossy Phoebe Dinsmore, A-men that also come after a prayer, science failing us yet again, attack of the killer push-mower, suggestive footage of airplanes refueling, the friggin’ Canadians saving our ass again, and one badass MF-ing EMF.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Funny stuff is happening at the hardware store and I’m not talking about the “hoe” jokes. Clocks have stopped running, washing machine doors are opening by themselves, lawn equipment threaten to decapitate, and hand mixers are making terrible cupcakes. The culprit is a malicious field of electro magnetic energy that’s emanating from a mysterious source upstairs. So the panicked storeowner calls in the 50’s answer to the Geek Squad in the form of the Office of Scientific Investigation’s A-men. The “A” is for Atomic, because it’s the 50s and that is somehow cool. Head A-man Dr. Stewart (Richard Carlson) and his intrepid assistant Dr. Forbes (King Donovan – best name ever, BTW) arrive at the store and discover the source of the magnetic malfeasance – a radioactive corpse on the 2nd floor! Using data collected from the dead man and an odd canister, they conclude that the magnetic force is not only killing people, it’s also emitting radiation that is growing at a geometric rate. After some scientific detective work, they are able to track down the source of the phenomenon – a renegade scientist on a plane with a suitcase full of the dangerous material. The A-men stop him from inadvertently crashing the plane and find him close to death. The scientist confesses he was experimenting with a new isotope and exposed it to heavy radiation resulting in a sentient element that sucks the energy out of the atmosphere and then emits deadly radiation. Kind of like yours truly at an enchilada brunch. After intense study, Stewart and his team conclude that the “monster” is the embodiment of energy transforming into matter and could possibly consume all the power on Earth, growing so large that it could knock the planet off its axis. Our last hope is to overload this Beast from the Big Bang with all the energy at our disposal and hope that our 50s haircuts survive the climatic battle.

THE FINISHER:

The Magnetic Monster is somewhat of an obscure Sci-fi treat, a unique marriage of hard science and a convincing storyline in a 50s paranoid monster movie. With the exception of Richard Carlson, an unsung icon of B-movie legend who is his usual calm and assured as Stewart, the acting is a little flat, the script nothing to write home about, and the attempts at humor D.O.A.. But on the other hand, the movie has a tight pace, a fascinating if unverifiable scientific premise, and an unusual approach to the “science gone awry” angle. Directed by Curt Siodmak, writer of the better sci-fi flicks of the time, the movie is cleverly pieced together with footage from an old German film called Gold and smartly-utilized non-cheesy stock footage. But perhaps the best part of the film is its straight-forward approach which never devolves into hokey melodrama and is sustained with believable suspense. Then there’s the strange subplot which involves Stewart’s pregnant wife unable to gain weight despite his every obsessive effort to fatten her up. Perhaps one can question the parallel between Stewart’s domestic dilemma and his ultimate solution to kill the magnetic monster by overloading it with energy? Some subtextual jab at the nuclear family by Curt and company? Nuclear! Get it? Yes, well. Oh, and the supercomputer that helps the scientists analyze the creature is named MANIAC, another clever poke at the scientific community. Or maybe it’s just a funny opportunity to spout dialogue like “We’ll have to consult the MANIAC”. To my knowledge The Magnetic Monster, an entertaining and attractive combo of Sci-Fi suspense and quick physics lesson, is not available on DVD as of this writing, which is a shame because it really is a decent offering from an era of fantasy film so filled with corny fare.

THE BURROWERS (2008)

WHAT THE MONSTERS TAUGHT ME: A Great Substitute for Buffalo Jerky Is Cowboy Jerky.

THE CARD:

John Ford's The C.H.U.D. Searchers meets Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Munch meets Sergio Leone's Tremori, a scraggly boy-poking Brother Crowe, a 19th century Randolph Mantooth, a great mustachioed Horace Goodspeed, a Lost Ethan now found monster food, and Yippie-Kai-Yay, Cowboy Chompers!

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

It’s 1876 and the Dakota Territory has turned into a Terror-tory with the endless threat of the wilderness and Indian massacres upon pioneers such as Stewart family. Young Maryanne Stewart (Jocelin Donahue) is being courted by Irish journeyman Fergus Coffey (Karl Geary) and the pair seal the deal with the exchange of a broach and hand-holding. Scandalous! One evening, the family is attacked by an unseen enemy that kills the parents and kidnaps the children including Maryanne. Renegade Sioux Indians are blamed for the kidnapping and the next day, a rescue party is formed consisting of a deeply concerned Coffey, the gruff but experienced Parcher (William Mapother), his naïve stepson-to-be Dobie (Galen Hutchinson), the grizzled prairie-weary Clay (Clancy Brown), and skeptical manservant Callaghan (Sean Patrick Thomas). They team up with sniveling beast Army Captain Victor (Doug Hutchinson) and his band of bloodthirsty Indian-haters, but members of the posse don’t exactly see eye to eye. Clay and Victor clash over asking friendly Sioux for help, Parcher and Dobie share a tense relationship, but Coffey and former slave Callaghan bond when they discover they share more in common than stinky boots. As they traverse the desolate plains for the lost family, they are horrified to discover bodies buried in the earth. The victims are half-paralyzed but alive and trapped in a hideous suspended animation for some unknown reason and by some arcane method. Suspecting a new tribe of vengeful natives, the posse intensifies its search for an adversary the Sioux calls The Burrowers. But the men slowly realize that not only will they have to set aside their prejudices and blind hatreds, they’ll have to pray to their cowboy-hat wearing God as they find themselves confronted with primordial underground creatures whose idea of Manifest Destiny is a gut-munching buffet of yahoos and country bumpkin racists. Yee-horror!

THE FINISHER:

One of a handful of effective horror films set in the Old West, The Burrowers is a unique blend of thoughtful Western story and horror tale which is simultaneously solicitous as a desperate western adventure and enjoyable as a horror movie. Director J.T. Petty strives to create a realistic setting with well-rounded characterizations and a suspenseful and often hopeless storyline while delivering the monster movie goods in the creation of a terrifying breed of creatures. And for the most part he succeeds thanks to solid performances, a seemingly well-researched script, and an intense almost apocalyptic atmosphere. There is no escaping the tinge of doom that pervades the movie as accentuated by the terrifying way the creatures feed, the fact that these guys are alone in the middle of nowhere with help two-days ride away, and that their only salvation is their hated enemy that would give anything to see the white man gobbled up by a Sioux boogeyman. Pretty potent stuff, I thought. But the only flaw in the film is occasional slowness and storyline meandering, two things that almost cannot be escaped with a limited budget. These were small prices to pay for what I thought was an effective, beautifully shot movie. But try finding a positive review for this film and you’ll end up as paralyzed as the victims in the movie. Most of the reviews out there skewer the director’s attempt to subvert the genre with a Western sensibility, twisted takes on Western archetypes, and making viewers wait for the gory ending (which incidentally wasn’t that outrageously gory, which made it even better). And it’s the supposed intent that’s scrutinized and scorned, not the outcome or effect which I thought worked. Perhaps it’s a matter of taste and perception as all movie criticism can arguably be boiled down. This is the kind of movie horror fans need to see and support. Enough with the stupid remakes, the silly Asian do-overs, and the brainless soulless penniless gore. Although infused with an admirable political subtext, The Burrowers is not a feast of intellectualism or genre-reworking, but it is an effective and well-prepared meal of cowboys, indians, and monsters, literal or otherwise.

BARRACUDA (1978)

WHAT THE MONSTER TAUGHT ME: Low Blood Sugar + Doped Fishies = Massacre On Cupcake Beach

THE CARD:

Long Jaws (or whatever the hell barracudas have. Boo!), a marine biologist with questionable taste in bitey friends, a town of pissy fuckoffs, a discount Carl Kolchak, Doc Rutger Hauer, Country Physician, beloved but still strange 70s boobs, not enough tartar sauce, the velvet painting of Jesus with a loaf of bread on his head Easter Egg, Sheriff Lobo rejects, the old man crotch shot motif, and the Wilson Sisters nowhere in sight.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

The coastal town of Palm Cove has been besieged by an invasion upon humanity unseen since the days of locusts and frogs falling from the sky. And that infestation is – meddlin’ college kids. A group of snoopy teen marine biologists are taking samples from the local beaches and discover abnormal levels of chemicals dumped from a local factory. Meanwhile back in the town, reports of road rage incidents, husbands and wives belting each other, and little kids beating puppets have tripled since the opening of the factory which has served as an economic boom. And something is also affecting the fishes in the nearby bay. Barracudas are attacking swimmers and snorklers and gobbling them up like fish sticks on Good Friday. These long-nose fishes are tearing up people and leaving nothing but the head. Turns out they really enjoy the meaty sensation of human butt. But the real reason for the strangeness in this burg of buffoons is even more insidious. Biologist Mike (Wayne Crawford) uncovers a plot to poison the water making the townsfolk hypoglycemic, unable to absorb nutrients, and eventually starve to death, a diabolical experiment in biological warfare. So when people's pee is dumped into the sea it's also poisoning the fishes and making barracuda rapacious for tasty ass. So Mike teams up with Sheriff Williams (William Kerwin) and his hot daughter (Roberta Leighton) to stop the total annihilation, peel the layers off this horrific conspiracy, and maybe grab a Filet-O-Fish or two.

THE FINISHER:

Barracuda surfed the low tide tails of such killer fish tales of the late 70s such as Piranha and the great Jaws, and apparently it drowned because I’d never heard of this flick until it appeared in a random monster movie search. The film is packaged in the Double Drive-In DVD series which features a couple of Grindhouse-era movies complete with trailers and those awesome intermission/snack bar cartoons. In the past, this series has featured typical low-grade fare to bring back the missed low-grade excitement of the drive-in experience. And Barracuda is no exception. You’d think that the focus of the film would be the attacking barracuda and plenty of people munching, right? Well, you'd be wrong, Johnny Naïve. The movie meanders through a plodding main storyline involving pollution, corporate corruption, and medical ethics. Instead of a buffet of beachgoers, we get lots of talking scenes, characters reading pages from medical books, and big fat guys snoozing. I mean, there’s a time and a place for exposition and padding out your message, but hell I wanted more barracudas chewing up bikinis, hippies, and dumbass tubby deputies. So we are forsaken blood-soaked surf and get a weak (but sorta admirable) anti-government message plus a total bummer ending. I can’t recommend the film for a Bad Movie Night or an ironic trip down Grindhouse Lane as the movie has a TV movie feel and is way too slow. On the positive side, it does possess a cool synth soundtrack supplied by Klaus Schultze of the forthcoming Zombieland. Subtitled “The Lucifer Project”, Barracuda probably started out life as a conspiratorial thriller but ended up a killer fish nasty with little to no killer fish or nastiness.

MY NAME IS BRUCE (2007)

WHAT THE MONSTERS TAUGHT ME: The Most Interesting Man In The World lives vicariously through Bruce Campbell.

THE CARD:

Bruce “That Scenery-Chewing Demon-Fighting USA-Networking Sumbitch” Campbell, Luigi the Forgotten Raimi, Mickey Rooney’s Chinaman one-upped, the emo Jughead, the failure of the Oregon state legislature to regulate ancient head-chomping demons, the armies of dorkness, and the scariest Chinese monster since General Tso's Chicken.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

The small mountain town of Gold Lick, Oregon is being terrorized by the reawakened Chinese guardian of lost souls Guan Di who’s slicing off heads with his demonic Guandao blade and gigantic moustache. The creature was stirred from slumber after a magical amulet was stolen from a cursed tomb where hundreds of Chinese laborers were buried in rubble after a tragedy decades ago. As the townsfolk are getting flicked like flies off bean curd, nerdy teen Jeff (Taylor Sharp) summons the courage to do the only thing a sane person would do when his home, family, and life are threatened. Yes, kidnap Bruce Campbell. Said Bruce is busily mugging away at his latest cinematic atrocity “Cave Alien II” where he is despised by his coworkers, ignored by his director, and poisoned with bodily fluids by the crew. Bruce repays the hostility with pomposity, rudeness, searing insults, and threats of new butthole tearing. God, I love this man. And so do his fans as he’s bombarded with autograph requests and stupid Evil Dead questions outside the studio. But despite the adoration, Bruce is a miserable man who’s searching for something new. Nut his asshole agent (redundant?) Mills (Ted Raimi) keeps dicking him around finding him nothing but sewage-level low budget movie work. Bitter and piss-pot tired of the B-movie limelight, Bruce returns to the Campbell shack and drowns his sorrows. In the morning, he’s shocked to find himself locked in the trunk of Jeff’s car and surrounded by the cheers of the doomed townsfolk of Gold Lick who have found themselves a savior. You see, Jeff has persuaded the town that only Bruce, veteran of dozens of rubber monster and vivacious demon attacks, can save them. Convinced he’s part of a put-on, Bruce milks the attention for what it’s worth, gets a free meal, and hits on Jeff MILFy Mom (Grace Thorsen). But when he discovers that the evil is real and that Gold Lick is actually a reboot of Hooterville only far more stupid, he craps his pants and hightails it back to Hollywood. But Bruce’s overbearing but cowardly ego is no match for the sentimental tub of goo he is deep down inside, so he returns to Gold Lick with a boomstick in one hand, a thousand rounds of ammo in the other, and 10,000 smirks.

THE FINISHER:

My old friend El Bombastico once said it best when he described film actor and movie star Bruce Campbell as the “Fonzie of B-Movies”. And indeed the chiseled-face Campbell is the Kirk of Smirk, the King of Geek Cool, and the Chin That Launched a Thousand Orgasms. But aside from the bigger than life persona he has honed into self-parodic perfection, Campbell is also a cantankerous, corny, and caustic cad of bad movie legend. Fully aware of his awful awesomeness, Campbell is a champion of genre entertainment having starred, co-starred, and made cameos in dozens of horror, sci-fi, and yes monster movies in an over two-decade career. Perhaps best known for his demon-fisting Ash character in the Evil Dead movies, Bruce Campbell is synonymous with cult celebrity, himself a combination of campy romp, spirited self-depreciation, and gruesome anti-social behavior that has earned him millions of loyal fans. That said, My Name Is Bruce feels like a sweaty fanboy love letter written to Campbell to appease his fictional (?) wind-baggedness, filled with cheap jokes, goofy slapstick, and a parade of obvious references to his prior work. But maybe that’s what writer Mark Verheiden (himself a beloved cult figure in my opinion) was trying to do: bellow out in TV movie style the glory that is to beholden at the, shall I say, tremenditude of Mr. Campbell. If that was his intention, it kinda failed. The movie is way too zany and aware of its own ineptitude and satirical atmosphere, which kind of ruins the irony and the fun. And the humor was less than I was hoping for too. Pee-pee and tranny jokes? Really? In my rare optimism I expected a film in which the crappy monster turned out to be a true terrifying creation of fully realized demonic proportions, not just another dude in a cheap costume. How awesome would it have been to see Campbell face off against the Cloverfield monster, or the ravenous fast zombies of the Dawn of the Dead remake, or the Jonas Brothers? Although a sweet homage to an unsung hero of B-movie mythology, My Name Is Bruce is a concoction best served with a liberal dose of brain-smashing irony and unconditional Bruce Campbell affection.

And lots of sugar, baby.

LATITUDE ZERO (1969)

WHAT THE MONSTERS TAUGHT ME: Why break up with your girlfriend when you can transform her into a Griffin?

THE CARD:

The Clown Prince of Scenery Chewing, Joe Cotten: Rat Buster, Joe Cotten’s seriously sloshed B-movie wife, boob-grabbing man-bats, the cream in Coffy, King Moonraiser’s Vengeance, Japanese toys porn, and a snooty Bay Area booge’s wet dream.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Monster movie rule #989: never get into a bathysphere. You’re just begging for trouble. And trouble arrives in the form of an erupting underwater volcano that threatens the doomed bathysphere of Japanese scientists Ken (Akira Takarada) and Jules (Masumi Okada) and token American reporter Perry (Richard Jaeckel). As they inch near a horrid boiling death, they are saved by a magical non-yellow submarine called Alpha, piloted by Captain MacKenzie (Joseph Cotten). Also aboard the mysterious sub is be-skirted thug Chin (Susumu Kurobe) and drugged-out golden bikini babe Dr. Anne Barton (Linda Haynes) who all hail from the undersea utopia called Latitude Zero, an extraordinarily advanced city created by MacKenzie and his centuries-old dedication to science, culture, and knowledge. Here you can hot tub with babes in green Kool Aid, fertilize geraniums with diamonds, and buy gold pants that stop bullets. But L.Z. also has a dark side, its bad side of town called Blood Rock where the eeeevil Dr. Malic (Cesar Romero) lurks in his eeeevil sub Black Shark with his eeeevil pill-popping bride Lucretia (Patricia Medina). Both Malic and MacKenzie have been playing a chess game of sorts for decades, each one trying to one-up or destroy the other through technology. MacKenzie invents jet packs that actually work and gloves that shoot lasers and fire. Malic creates human-sized bats and a giant lion with vulture wings with the brain of his sultry minion Kroiga (Hikaru Kuroki). I’ll let you decide which one to invite to your birthday party. Malic’s latest plot is kidnap a Japanese scientist who has discovered a miracle treatment for radiation poisoning. It’s a game of cat and giant rat between Malic and his batty minions and MacKenzie and his new half-awake friends. And it will all culminate in above-surface submarine battles, magnetic mountains, brain-cutting, embarrassing villain robes, and various acts of sodomy. No, really.

THE FINISHER:

Latitude Zero is not so much a monster movie or an epic action escapade but a pleasing visual feast of Japanese fantasy by two masters of the genre, namely director Ishiro Honda and special effects wizard Eiji Tsuburaya, both nearing their respective ends of their careers with this film. The result is a goofy sci-fi adventure which borrows everything from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Mysterious Island, and even Toho’s own similar adventure Atragon. Watching this film brought back vivid memories of Saturday mornings watching Toho productions with its ultra-modern set design, cool model work including visible strings, and flashy and often hilarious costumes such as the crew’s golden action uniforms, the furry hopping man-bats, Cotten’s weird chained shirt and Romero’s leather-busted white sash. So many memories. With the exception of Haynes' zombielike disinterest, the acting camp factor is fully cranked up to 12, but it’s Cesar Romero who steals the show as the sneeringly vile Malic. His over-the-top performance makes for more than just a few laugh out loud moments of inspired dinner thespian theatrics. Despite some random slowness in parts, a meandering plotline, and a cop-out ending, Latitude Zero recalls the cool futurism of the 60s which can be confused for tackiness depending on your taste but the movie delivers the goods if you’re looking for old fashioned sci-fi silliness from our kooky Japanese friends at Toho Studios.

Despite the butt-loving man-bats.

KRAA! THE SEA MONSTER (1999)

WHAT THE MONSTERS TAUGHT ME: When stomping the city, watch out for those toy Army men. They hurt!

THE CARD:

Our hero the deformed Mozzarella-stuffed Mushroom; They Came From Planet Drew Barrymore; special effects by Alka-Selzter; a cheapo Green Lantern Corps. rip-off; Sasquatch, the sensitive outlaw biker; Goofy Beret Squad – in color!; and Stripe the atomic steroid-fueled gremlin with elephantitis.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

On the wicked cold planet of Proyas (*SNICKER*), the plastic-skulled Lord Doom commands his minions which consists of dwarf henchman Chamberlain (Jon Simanton) to seek a warm planet to escape the deathly draftiness of his condemned homeworld. They decide on Earth and its abundance of wool sweaters and send the man-eating beast Kraa! to clear the way for colonization. But the Planet Patrol, a well-groomed group of teenage space cops complete with snazzy haircuts, way too revealing spandex, and a spaceship that looks like the MST3K logo stands in their way. P.P. is comprised of the latino smirk Captain Ruric (Robert Garcia), the sassy engineer Lt. Able (Candida Tolentino), the dopey surfer Garth (Anthony Furlong) and the useless psychic chicky Curtis (Alison Lohman). But the P.P. cannot warn Earth in time to save them from Kraa! as it lands in an ocean/someone’s swimming pool and starts tearing up the city/some kid’s Fisher-Price playset. Doom conveniently shuts down their spaceship and they are unable to land on Earth and fight the beast, thus saving $17 in torn spandex costs. So they send nearby P.P. agent Mogyar, a cross between a talking booger and a midget Smog Monster, to enlist the aid of tubby biker Bobbie (R.L. McMurry) and feisty café owner Alma (Teal Marchande) to help him defeat the devastating toy destroying horror of Kraa!. So P.P. pretty much disappears for the rest of the movie, coming back later in the finale, and the movie switches to the kooky antics of Bobbie, Alma, and our new mushroomy space pal. Mogyar, who sports a hilarious Italian accent (because you see he thought the whole planet spoke Italian – har), is being pursued by mysterious agents and soldiers. Apparently the government is oblivious to the destruction and havoc in its midst and only wants to capture Mogyar because he’s an illegal alien, which is ludicrous because this would never happen in real life. Ahem. Anyway, Mogyar and his hapless pals are in a race against time to stop Kraa! from the leveling city buildings shaped like shoe boxes, antique Matchbox cars, and precious lumberjack gas station mascots. Shudder!

THE FINISHER:

When the Bobbie character is first introduced in this movie, he stops into Alma’s diner for a cup of tea but is refused service because the place is closing. Why are diners always closing in movies? Can’t anyone read or flip a sign? Really, go back and look at some of the more famous diner scenes in movies – like in Diner – and there’s always scene where the counter-wiping proprietor says, “Sorry, I’m closing up”. Eh. Maybe not in Diner, but probably in most movies with diner scenes in them. Maybe I should do a month of movies with diner scenes in them. What do you think? This is the sole thought that lingered for long minutes following my view of Kraa! The Sea Monster. This is your typical Full Moon/Charles Band cheapo that is so lazily produced that that some shots still had the time codes on them! Really! The movie looks like it was produced in the Halloween costume aisle at K-Mart where it also found its cast working the graveyard shift. Obviously wanting to take advantage of the Godzilla American remake heat of its time, Kraa! does have a positive side as the crew looks like it was having a good time making this thing, the makers display a seemingly genuine affection for the genre, and the movie has its fair share of Godzilla and other giant monster movie references (psychic girl, the beam weapon that kills Kraa!, and some parts of the music). And for what it’s worth, the monster costume wasn’t half bad either, although it spent very little time as a sea monster and mostly just walked around and bumped into things. Everything else is pretty much what you'd expect from Full Moon: bad dialogue, horrible effects, and stiff acting. Kraa! The Sea Monster is admirable only for its obvious fondness of rubber-suited mayhem and even takes a visual jab at the 1998 Godzilla remake atrocity, but it’s far too cheap-looking and silly to be fully enjoyable.

WARBIRDS (2008)

WHAT THE MONSTERS TAUGHT ME: We Would Have Won The Pacific War Sooner With Less Rigid Commanding Officers, More Spunky Women Pilots, and 10,000 Rabid Pterodactyls.

THE CARD:

The “Roger That” and “Over” Drinking Game, a flaming B-52 that’s not Fred Schneider, the WASPs that don’t control the world, a Little Buddy-less Skipper, a comic book reading cutie, good ol’ fashioned sexism, good ol’ fashioned treacherous Japanese, and good ol’ fashioned people-starved pterodactyls.

THE ANGLE:

I don’t know if you know this, but back in World War II, there was a group of woman test pilots in the U.S. military known as the WASPs (Women's Air Service Corps). I had to Wikipedia that because deep down inside I knew I couldn’t trust a monster movie. I know, I’m embarrassed too. But it turns out to be true. Go figure. So movies starts late in the Pacific War of WWII and plucky B-52 pilot Maxine “Skipper” West (Jamie Elle Mann) and her intrepid crew are ordered to deliver a secret weapon to an airbase. Commanding them on the trip is jerky Captain Jack Toller (Brian Krause) who brings along a couple doofy guards with him. The gals show the men what they’re made of as they manoeuvre through a rough storm over turbulent seas in the middle of the night. But a mysterious flying object crashes into the plane, damages one of the engines, and kills a crewmember. Forced to land, Skipper locates an island in the middle of nowhere where they crash as Toller’s sweaty worry for their secret cargo increases. Separated from the base with no radio and mysterious hostiles in their midst, Skipper and crew encounter a small group of Japanese soldiers. After a brief and talky confrontation, they take the enemy soldiers prisoner along with their sneaky leader Ozu (Tohoru Masamune) who’s obviously hiding something about the island. And that something’s got a twenty-foot wingspan and a hankering for some G.I. chow: a bunch of ticked-off pterodactyls! So as Skipper and Toller trade insults, the soldiers and the cowardly prisoners battle these blood-hungry lizard birds on the ground as the fighting ladies hop aboard Japanese Zeroes and fight them in the air. And you know that these characters are true military because they continually say “roger that” and “over”. Anyway, so they eventually Skipper finds out that the secret cargo is the A-bomb on its way for prep before being dropped on Hiroshima and ludicrous anti-war sermonizing soon follows, which makes me yearn for the return of the Axis of Evil, only in big frickin’ flying bird form.

THE FINISHER:

Sci-Fi (soon to be SyFy) Original Movies are occasionally a thing of masochistic cinematic beauty. Case in point - Rock Monster. Or S. S. Doomtrooper. Or the classic Mansquito. These beloved TV movie gems are usually a short bus full of brain-cell-murdering entertainment. Usually. Sci-Fi’s Warbirds, a butt dumb and generally objectionable combination of war movie and monsterfest, does not fall into the category of a hurtful fun movie. It is simply a work of wounding and feeble uselessness. On paper the movie’s ideas – giant freaking pterodactyls attacking Japanese and American soldiers during WWII – is wonderful in a monster-movie loving way. Throw in some feisty female badasses and aerial battles in the mix and brother you got yourself a riotous movie night. But I knew I was in for a sucky time when I heard the cringing dialog, witnessed the terrible blue screen effects and wooden acting, and saw the lame CGI pterodactyls and airplanes doing battle like amateur night at Atari 2600 headquarters. And my apologies to my female reader, but the lead female “Skipper” was about as believable as the chompy pterodactyls themselves. She’s argumentative, constantly questions the Captain character, and generally makes stupid decisions. How in the hell did she get the Hiroshima bomb hauling gig? So ladies, if you are looking for empowerment through a Sci Fi original movie, you should really re-examine your priorities and psychological state. But perhaps the most irritating thing in the movie was the lazy screenwriting – the constant, and I do mean CONSTANT, “overs”, “Skipper”, “Skip”, and “roger that”. Roger this, roger that, roger here, roger there and meanwhile I feel like the one being rogered. Warbirds is the same ol’ crap from the bad ol’ Sci Fi channel, instantly forgettable and a terrible waste of good monster potential.

Somewhere up in giant monster bird heaven, Rodan hangs his head in shame.

Um, over.

MEGA SHARK VS. GIANT OCTOPUS (2009)

WHAT THE MONSTERS TAUGHT ME: When Your Eons-Old Biological Rival Horns In On Your People-Eating, Better Call Renegade.

THE CARD:

Not Rooking Very Mahvelous; It's DEBORAH Goddamnit!; Tubby the Boozy Sidekick; Dr. Sulu the Love Intelest, The Not-Irish Irish Mentor; the Kool-Aid of Science; Shake Your Rice Fever; and enough angry seafood to feed a Japan of Chris Farleys.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Self-righteous scientist Dr. Emma MacNeil (Deborah Gibson) pilots a mini-sub in the Arctic Sea racing against time to catch a glimpse of whales humping, crapping, or some such scientific shit. As she maneuvers the sub through murky and turbulent waters with her plucky fat-ass assistant at her side, we soon discover that she has stolen the sub from something called the “Institute” and immediately we realize her badass take-no-prisoners approach to marine biology. But strange happenings are afoot in the gloomy depths when a glacier suddenly explodes, probably due to pollution, global warming, or the eerie echoes of “Shake Your Love”. The explosion releases a humongous prehistoric shark and an equally enormous octopus from their primordial sleep. The mighty beasts then mysteriously piss off, leaving the bemused Emma to contemplate her sanity and nail polish. Back on land, she is called to investigate a beached whale that was found with giant teeth marks in its side. She pulls one such tooth out of the remains and concludes that it belongs to a Carcharadon megalodon, an ass-kicking shark of the prehistoric seas. Meanwhile, strange “men in black” are following her, speaking in their cufflinks, and sipping from wired Big Gulps. Wisely suspecting a government cover-up, she seeks out her mentor Dr. Sanders (Sean Lawlor), a sloshed professor with a penchant for biophysics and slipping accents. They team-up with Japanese scientist Dr. Shimada (Vic Chao) after Japan is terrorized by attacks on oil rigs and school girls from a tentacled monster. After concerned rubbing of chins, scientific mixing of Easter egg color solutions, and eyewitness drawings by my two-year-old niece, the doctors conclude that the sea is suffering from a bad case of hemorrhoids. That, or a big ass shark and a frickin’ huge octopus. The gang is enlisted by love-hating Agent Allan Baxter (Lorenzo Freakin’ Lamas), probably the first guy in a dance club leisure suit who commands seaman to ever appear in a monster movie, but not necessarily in a Lamas movie. Anyway, Baxter represents the government and vehemently persuades Emma and Sanders to come up with a solution to the problem quick. Cut to monster terrorizing montage. The shark eats a plane and chomps a destroyer. The octopus wriggles and burps. The shark makes a San Francisco treat out of the Golden Gate Bridge. The octopus plays canasta with a manta ray (I’m guessing - I couldn’t see shit!). The scientists mix some more chemicals, Emma gets her sushi rolled by Shimada, and the group comes up with a cockamamie plot to attract the creatures with their own pheromones to incite a hormone-fuelled battle like ladies night at McGilly’s. But in the end, it’s not Lamas’ greasy mug or Debbie’s refrigerator door teeth that save the day. Tragically, Mega Shark and Giant Octopus die of cardiac arrest. Too many fatty Americans.

THE FINISHER:

Asylum, the studio behind Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus, is like the crappy film Santa Claus bringing gifts of joy and migraines to all the good little boy and girl bad movie lovers in a world where X-mas morning is every other Tuesday. Only this Santa shops exclusively at TG&Y, Big Lots, and Ben Franklin, the retail hubs of knock-off merchandise the world over. Check out other Asylum treats reviewed here, here, and here. Speaking of movie loving recipients of cinematic poopy, it is not difficult to conclude that bad movie lovers such as I suffer from a crippling internal need that craves depraved ineptitude to serve the inner will to mock. This debilitating illness is best shared with like sufferers, preferably with sweets, salty snacks and adult beverages. Such was not the case when I watched M.S. vs. G.O. I watched it alone. Like a dumbass. And thus the awfulness could not be shared and my searing barbs of cattiness towards Debbie and Lorenzo went wasted and unheard. Thanks to the internet, the trailer for Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus was an email-forwarded, Twittered, and Facebook-favorited phenom and possibly experienced the most buzz of any Asylum product ever. And the trailer is pretty frickin’ great in its own appalling way, but the end result couldn’t live up to its compacted 60-second sell. And did you really expect it to? The movie seems a more conscious about its incompetence and face-palming stupidity than most Asylum pictures, but that doesn’t save it. Yeah, I know that it’s supposed to be bad, but its will to be bad at every turn is so self-aware that it ruins the fun of mocking it to death. Then again, mocking this movie is like shooting mega sharks in a barrel. But the filmmakers can’t even do self-conscious ineptitude correctly, and the result is like listening to Nicole Ritchie trying to explain cold fusion. Or shark/octopus relations. In the end it’s just a bunch of lame actors trampling over each other’s dialog while squeezing out a terrible script and praying to God the check clears at the end of the day. And while there’s no where near enough mega shark on giant octopus action, there’s plenty of inter-titles to constantly remind you where they are every Goddamn second of the film. Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus may be terrible fun, but you better invite some people over first before sampling this seafood platter of caca cinema.

COMING VERY SOON: MONSTERS MOVIE MONTH!!!

Sorry for the delays, but yes Monster Movies are coming. And not just for June. Tremendo is going to be watching nothing but the best, meh-est, worst, and soul-wrenchingly awfulest creature features Cinema has to offer for the month of July as well. It'll be a summer of absolute terror and rubber costumed glee right here on Tremendo Time. In the meantime, enjoy a Giant Monster tribute, courtesy of some dude on YouTube:

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