LAST GASP (1995)
One day, I'm going to write an article about the year 1995. I may have mentioned it before, but 1995 was "my" year. It was magical. Why? Well, that would require something more stout than a blood capsule. I thought I was familiar with every cruor-curdling calash that shaded The Year That Did Shred (that's what I'm thinking of calling 1995; pretty metal, no?), but films like Last Gasp continue to prove me wrong. Was this thing created in a vacuum? Robert Patrick stars as Chase, a tight-fisted real estate developer who wants to clear an indigenous tribe from his acreage. They won't budge. This forces Chase's hand, as he does what any levelheaded businessman would do - he has them butchered.
Problem solved! Unfortunately, the chieftain of the slain caste in question lived long enough to put a curse on Chase. He now subsists with a compulsion to kill. It's hard to feel bad for the guy, but there are other characters. Joanna Pacula and Mimi Craven drop their respective tops, and while I should be scolded for reducing their roles to spouts of lechery, that's what Last Gasp wants me to do. It never decides if it desires to be a softcore thriller or an infantile slasher. The deaths are certainly bloody enough to appeal to any Beavis or Butthead looking for simple delights. Ultimately, it fails to fulfill grander goals. The final girl is frustratingly dumb. Her stupidity almost single-handedly ruins the climax. So. Goddamn. Dumb.
I wouldn't be embarrassed to own Last Gasp. Then again, I could be saying that because I own Last Gasp. You've seen better days, 1995. You've seen better days.
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