Reviews written by registered user
|2 reviews in total|
Never before in the annals of cinematic history has there risen a film
so intensely stupid that it makes Jeff Foxworthy's "You Might Be A
Redneck" monologues look staid and deeply philosophical.
This film stars a thin, joyless, gray man who runs a skydiving school with his large-haired, joyless, gray wife who, it seems, might be cheating on him. It's just as well, because I think he may have also been cheating on her. Really, I don't remember. I just finished watching it, and I cannot remember a single thing about it, other than the fact that a lot of it was gray.
A gray friend of the man is recently released from prison or something, and he comes to work at the school as the gray man's airplane mechanic. A romance of some kind may or may not have sparked between the gray friend and the gray man's gray wife - although my memory of it is a bit hazy - and gray woman and gray friend hatch a plot to kill the gray man (or something like that).
Stuff happens, including reels and reels of stock footage showing people jumping out of planes (gray), as well as a huge dance party inexplicably taking place on the tarmac where the gray man parks his gray plane, complete with various other gray people and music performed by, I would assume, gray musicians. (They were never shown.) The movie ends when somebody dies, but not before Coleman Francis, the evil demon behind this film, as well as the abysmal "Red Zone Cuba", makes his standard bland appearance, looking for all the world like an angry Curly Howard from the Three Stooges, and probably thinking himself pretty clever because of this ridiculous Hitchcockian tribute to himself.
As the title of this review states, I want to hit this movie, over and over again, to quell the feeling that Coleman Francis and his minions have consumed my soul, and I am left a dark, bitter husk of a man.
But maybe that's just me.
Every so often, while strolling through the aisles of the local video
the unsuspecting consumer will spot something out of the corner of his eye
that almost shouts, "LOOK AT ME!!! I'M WHAT YOU'RE LOOKING
In my own particular case, this is exactly what happened. I had visited the local Blockbuster with my lovely and talented assistant, Noodles, in search of a movie so painfully stupid, so insipid, that I could sit through the entire thing without the slightest bit of sympathy for the so-called heroes.
"Altered Species" (packaged this time around as "Rodentz") is just such a film. So loathsome were its main characters that I found myself hoping, almost praying, that these brick-stupid chunkheads would fall victim to the leader of the rats - a six-foot critter that looks like a guy in a bear suit that has seen better days. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
"Altered Species" stars no one and features little more. It's lead actors - okay, it's ONLY actors - all look vaguely familiar, but you can't place the faces. If I had to guess, I would say that at least one of them has asked me, personally, if I "want fries with that."
The story, such as it is, revolves around a group of drunken people who visit their scientist friend, Walter, at the laboratory where he works with a cranky old guy who is continuously yelling at him that "the formula is FINE!"
During Walter's initial scenes, we get a taste of the back story, and it seems that clumsy Walter accidentally lets a crate full of lab rats loose in the building's basement. These rats, in turn, have been drinking from the experimental formula that they had previously been injected with.
After the cranky guy's cat (a cat?!? In a science lab full of rats?!?) disappears, he goes off to find him, and bad things happen to him. Walter, brick-stupid dolt that he is, doesn't find it the least bit suspicious that his boss also disappears, and proceeds to let his idiot friends in, where they can swill tequila from a plastic gallon jug. The friends are typical - almost cardboard cutout-like - horror film fodder, and it's not long before you begin hoping the rats get fed up with them and start eating them. It is not long before our prayers are answered.
Without giving away too much about this film, I think I can safely say that most of the people that deserve to die, do. I would say ALL of the people who deserve to die, but that wouldn't have left anybody to whimper and limp off into the sunset at the end of the film (as is required for this sort of flick).
Of course, with any horror film that feels it is worth its weight in celluloid, there is an obligatory nude scene, but it is played in such a way that the viewer isn't even given any gratification on that front, either. The girl is a sleazy tramp, and the guy is dumber than a box of hair. It was like watching Sylvester Stallone during his pre-Rocky, Death Race 2000 days, trying to get lucky with one of Calvin Klein's anorexic, heroine-addicted underwear models. Fortunately, the girl stops the greasy butt-steak from violating her long enough to ask if he has a condom. He doesn't, and a trip to the van downstairs is required. While the big, dumb lump rifles through the glove box, his beloved skank is having her face eaten by the above-mentioned six-foot rat.
Stupid? Yes. Banal? Without a doubt. A waste of money? Absolutely. But... Er... Okay, I was going for something here, but I don't remember what it was. Suffice to say, this is a not-good movie. Not a "bad" movie, mind you. Those are at least watchable on some level. A not-good film is sort of like setting your shirt on fire - fascinating at first, but you're going to end up hurting when it's finished.