Killjoy 2

He's back for seconds, and so am I. I still haven't learned my lesson. Actually, I'm proud to say that I own this trilogy. My friends are expecting me to snap at any moment in an apoplexy of exasperation and self-reproach, but I don't regret dropping cash for a red box full of z-grade "killer clown" flicks. Even if all three entries reveal themselves to be infected pustules on the skin of America, I won't feel any pangs of buyer's remorse. Admittedly, the subject of today's review put my hospitality to the test. Don't quote me on this (I may change my mind by the time I finish writing), but Killjoy 2 could be worse than its predecessor.

Aside from a cursory reference to the events of the first film, this is a stand-alone sequel. Two cops haul a van of malefactors to...a place. I didn't catch where they were going, but I've got a sneaking suspicion that it doesn't matter. Anyway, the detainees are your average thug types, their crimes ranging from arson to petty theft. The van breaks down in the middle of the night (imagine that), so the cops and the convicts scatter in search of civilization. At the 40-minute mark, they finally make their way to the isolated residence of a voodoo priestess. The legend of Killjoy is shoehorned into the plot, and before you know it, our refined characters are being picked off left and right.

This has the makings of a pre-existing script that was modified into a Killjoy sequel in the bottom of the ninth inning. We don't see an evil clown until after the halfway point, and the film is only 77 minutes long. The production values are cheaper this go 'round. The acting is labored, although Debbie Rochon turns in a stealthy performance. She is the cast's sole bright spot. I realize that might be construed as a racist joke. And it is, but it was engineered with love. Unfortunately, Rochon keeps her clothes on, which is both ungodly and unforgivable. Gore? Not a chance, unless you count all of the implied violence.

Killjoy 2 isn't outrageously horrible, but that's not necessarily a compliment. At least I could laugh at the original. This abject jamboree is just dull. Granted, it does attempt to trace the ancestry of Killjoy himself, but the explanation we are given never becomes anything more than a bleary, nebulous campfire tale. The ending is what really pisses me off. It's established early on that Killjoy cannot be taken down with bullets. How is he taken down, you ask? Well, the climax comes to a screeching halt when he is assailed by wax. Wax! Killjoy melts, the protagonists celebrate and the end credits roll.

To be clear, the film doesn't illustrate why our madcap jokesmith is allergic to wax. Sigh. One Z'Dar, and that's for Debbie Rochon.

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