Blood Capsule #34


Sweet holy spirit, this flick is fucking insane.  You need to watch it.  But don't read the synopsis!  Don't even go to the IMDb page.  I didn't know anything about the plot before I hit play, and I was delightfully discountenanced by the flighty twists.  Shrunken Heads begins as an austere "coming of age" drama akin to Stand by Me.  Pretty soon, the viewer is assaulted with aberrant Haitian voodoo, a dyke-squired crime syndicate, humanitarian zombies and oblique traces of statutory rape.  By the way, the aforementioned dyke is Meg Foster in a fat suit.  Have I mentioned that this flick is fucking insane?  I'm not sure if it's brilliant or defective, but I had a blast with it.  It's goddamn gorked.

Shrunken Heads was shepherded by Richard Elfman, brother of Danny (bro-bro provided the propulsive main theme).  I'm not all too familiar with Richard's work, but I dig his style.  The camera movements are kinetic, and the rainbow cinematography pops like the blood-filled balloons in It.  Beep, beep...holy shit, his name is Richie!  I've unintentionally concocted the world's most perfect joke!  In closing, this fatuous, incongruent convoy demands your attention.  It comes equipped with a marvelous edition of VideoZone.  Man, Charles Band really thought that Oblivion would be a hit, didn't he?

No comments:

Post a Comment