This no-budget splatter dish is often compared to Street Trash, but I think it has more in common with Frank Henenlotter's Brain Damage. Both films seem to be making half-cogent statements about drug addiction, though Henenlotter's hallucinogenic trash tackles the subject with a courtly panache (I'm speaking in relative terms, of course). Greg Lamberson's Slime City is a straightforward b-movie, and for all I know, I'm seeing social commentary where there is none. It doesn't really matter. It's entertaining either way, and the third act is cockled...no, puckered with wall-to-wall gore. The special effects are truly impressive. Let's just say that I'm glad I wasn't eating when the prostitute effaced Alex's goo-soused bandages. Fucking yuck.
The "plot" is shot full of holes. I'm not convinced that Lamberson (who also penned the screenplay) understands how alchemy works. Apparently, imbibing lime green elixir and wolfing down Himalayan yogurt converts your body into a soul conduit. Alex has just moved into an apartment complex, and his oh-so-friendly neighbor has invited him over for dinner. He ingests green shit, which allows the aura of a cult leader to accroach his spirit. Basically, we have possession by ectoplasm. That would look good on a list of Joe Bob's Drive-In Totals. There is also a subplot involving Alex's virgin cocktease of a girlfriend, but try as I might, I couldn't give a fuck.
Despite of a loopy premise, the exposition is somewhat engrossing. I didn't mind the characters, and the pace wafted along at a sprightly gallop. In reality, the first hour is merely a placeholder for the explosive climax. The best bits of violence occur in one room, but fuck me running (shut up, Adam), I've never seen such thorough limb splitting. I swear, there is nothing sweeter than a magma flow of 80's-style bloodshed. Naturally, the door is left wide open for a sequel, and 22 years later, Lamberson finally got around to erecting Slime City Massacre. I haven't seen it myself, but the reviews are generally favorable. Plus, it stars Debbie Coccaro. I mean, Rochon. Debbie Rochon. Debbie Rochon-Coccaro.
Chuck Brain Damage, Street Trash and a dab of Basket Case into a blender...blammo! You have a heapin' helpin' of Slime City. I dug it. Don't get me wrong; flaws are prominent. The supplementary thespians aren't up to snuff, and it does take awhile for the narrative to gain momentum. Keep in mind, this was Lamberson's directorial debut. I'd call it a success, especially considering that funds were scarce. Robert Z'Dar says, "I downed a goblet of Himalayan yogurt once. The next morning, I woke up next to Patrick Swayze and Sylvester Stallone. Naked. Sweating. I had a severe case of lockjaw. I would have asked a series of serious questions, but before I knew it, I was offered a role in Tango & Cash. How lucky can a guy be?"
Posted by Dom Coccaro at 11:21 PM