Be the Worst You Can Be

Trying something a bit different tonight.  This little experiment was catalyzed by an impromptu horror marathon made possible by Roku, YouTube and wired restlessness.  No matter how I settled my bones, I couldn't fucking sleep.  Thank Satan for movies!  Movies, movies, movies.  It's rare that I watch two movies in succession, so surveying three seems herculean in retrospect.  You know what else seems herculean?  My strength!  I am rugged and tenacious.  Why, I have the goddamn strength of ten full-grown carcasses.  The steroids help (the trick is taking more than you're prescribed), sure, but there will NOT be an asterisk next to my anonym in the Horror Blogger Hall of Fame, unless I have to piss in a cup.

I pissed once.  Years ago.  Um, 1987's Blood Frenzy is a dull slasher set in the middle of a desert.  It gets the tiny things right.  A couple of characters are likable to the point where you don't want to slit their throats.  The final act is moderately atmospheric, as it takes place in a mine.  But jeepers Friday, if I wasn't wide-awake fidgety, I would have conked out at the 30-minute mark.  There's a reason why "desert slashers" aren't a subclass of the modern day exploitation film.  Deserts, much like blood frenzies, are bare.  A startlingly low gore quotient and no nudity. One of the supplementary parts is a blonde nymphomaniac, for fuck's sake! Next.

Oh, Lisa Loring plays a bitter cunt.  She was the original Wednesday Addams.  Interesting, yet entirely irrelevant.

1986's Hunter's Blood spends a paunchy, loose-lipped 45 minutes cramming nothing up the viewer's asshole.  It's well-acted, but the plot is far too simplistic for a 101-minute running time.  Speaking of which, we follow a covey of hunters (y'know, hunters) as they quail deep into a forest.  Uh-oh!  They have run aground of bully poachers. Oh, shit!  They're not poachers; they're cannibals!  Are our protagonists about to lose their blood (y'know, blood)?  I'm being flippant, but this might have been the best film that I viewed last night.  Actually, strike "might" from the record.  It was easily the most refined product.  The second half is a marshland of suspense, and fucking orange hell, the violence is brutal.

The cast speaks for itself.  Clu Gulager, Bruce Glover, Billy Drago (hell yes), Charles Cyphers, Kim Delaney...Hunter's Blood doesn't want for stellar acting.  I would describe it as The Hills Have Motel Hells After Taking Wrong Turns.  If you can weather a precarious exposition, you will be rewarded with a quality thriller.  Remain firm. Stand fast.  Win out.

Would you believe that Hunter's Blood was not the fright fare I enjoyed the most out of the motion pictures I fellated?  Execrable word choice, I realize.  I'm tired, okay?  While I recognize that it isn't top-shelf entertainment, I had a blast with 1986's Revenge (a.k.a. Blood Cult 2).  Patrick Wayne is unbelievably stilted as a guy who investigates the death of his brother in a classic small town.  He is aided by an old lady ninja who kicks 78% more ass than anyone else.  No joke, my friend.  Dis bitch is ryde or die!  Once Revenge arrives at the halfway stamp, all bets are off.  We get motorcycle chases, cheese-wadded demons (love the make-up effects) and John Carradine being awesome.

I was literally smiling as the end credits rolled across the screen. Me! Smiling a happy smile!  If this were an episode of Best of the Worst, Revenge would win.  Of course, I would destroy Blood Frenzy, despite it being somewhat tolerable.  "Tolerable" doesn't cut it around here.  Imagine the DVD being crushed under the weight of my wheelchair.  Or VHS tape.  You grasp the basic concept.

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