A review for Lunch Meat is a review for us all. I’m sure my insights here will echo those of everysoul fortunate enough to have ridden the unshakable homegrown fiend of a ride that is Lunch Meat. Watching it seems to synchronize the viewer into some larger, undefined headcheese consciousness. And with a movie named after cold cuts, would you expect anything less than the completely strange?
The movie begins with a false sense of security. Entitled yuppie teens call eachother scab and fungus as they drive towards a cabin they’ll never reach. It all feels familiar. Someone likes someone and that person likes someone else. Someone forgot the lunch meat, and someone forgot the gas, so the jeep gets pushed to the nearest watering hole. The jeep finds a drink and the teens find a bite to eat. It’s evident that those aren’t any ordinary burgers and they grimace and chew. Grimace and chew. Continue reading “Schlock du Jour: Lunch Meat (1987)”→
It’s my pleasure the introduce the immensely entertaining, ReelRat, in Omaha, NE.
If you’ve not yet read any articles from his CinemaSlice series, Schlock Du Jour, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!GO NOW
ReelRat is a hard-working and dedicated dude who immerses himself into the world of Schlock Cinema!
*Hallelujah chorus plays*
ReelRat was born Elliot Ian Ross to a rockstar and a stripper, so it’s no surprise that is forté is trash. His vampiric tendencies of avoiding the sunlight have led to his mind being poisoned by the stacks of schlock cinema in his home.
I am a disappointment. Before you attempt to console me, please, just listen to my story.
I had it all planned out, see? I held my horses for the perfect opportunity. I had waited so long to finally see it, and I knew I needed my best mates Jade, Jeremy, and Tim there to enjoy the experience with me. I also needed drinks of course. You can’t forget the drinks when you’re screening an A+ Schlock bomb that would rewire our synapses after it blew our collective minds. This was going to be a great night. We were going to watch Rollergator. Hell. Yes.
Fast forward 83 minutes to me sitting there, in silence, embarrassed and ashamed as the credits rolled. Because that’s when I realized that I showed the wrong movie. What I meant to watch involved women in skimpy clothing turning into reptiles, and then killing other people to turn them into gay zombies! It had been Repligator I meant to watch! Bret McCormick’s erotic sci-fi romp from the same year. Not whatever the shit this was. I had never even actually heard of Rollergator, it had merely incepted its way into my mind like its name was Berenstein Bears. Press [F] to pay respects.
A beloved pastime of horror fans is talking about how many “Massacre” films there are. FromThe Texas Chain Saw Massacreto Alien Beach Party Massacre, and pretty much anything you can fathom in between (I’ve yet to see a Purple Weasel Massacre, but I’m sure it’s in production). So when I heard there was a film called Leaf Blower Massacre, I was as surprised as I was to find out Roman Reigns is facing Brock Lesnar at Summerslam for the Universal Championship. That is to say, not at all.
Leaf Blower Massacre is a 2013 short approximately 12 minutes in length. In it, we are introduced to a killer that is a dead ringer for the nail gun killer in Nail Gun Massacre, except instead of a high-velocity carpentry tool, the killer is wielding none other than the eponymous leaf blower. The fact that the weapon needs an outlet to work is a funny way to poke fun at the killer’s weapon trope. This short is all in good fun, even if it does seem to get confused about what it actually is, much in the way the WWE creative team is confused about the character of Roman Reigns. What would have been more compelling is if our 12 minutes of attention were met with a relentless onslaught of killing randos in clever ways with a leaf blower. But I’m projecting.
There has never really been a moment in my life that I didn’t at least live with a cat. When I was born, my parents already had a half-persian named Yo-Yo. I moved in with my cousins and they had Simba and Dinkers. Then there was Sabrina, Koko, Maxx, London, Cosmo, Eevee, Yuna, Bowser, and finally Bowie and Raimi. I think it’s safe to say I like cats. Still with me?
Dog people tend to be more extroverted and have more friends. Cat people are more likely to be introverts. I’m generalizing, and also pulling this 100% out of my ass, but it sounds good! So I’m definitely lacking in the friends department because of my affinity for cats, and not because I invite people over to watch a movie where a man dresses up as a cat, uses a litterbox, and wears a giant, barbed, cat cock dildo while he murders women.
A Playboy playmate, a Penthouse pet, a man named mom…
This isn’t a riddle, it’s Doom Asylum! Welcome!
I hope you enjoy your stay. While you’re here, make sure to enjoy the whole host of cartoon characters. From yuppie alimony attorneys, to hungover coroners, to all chick noisewave bands (they play the local sewers!), Doom Asylum kicks you in the crotch, spits in your mouth, and then tickles you and takes your laughing as affirmation of enjoyment. Never mind the steady stream of sadness pooling at your feet.
When I was a kid, I had an impressive collection of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figures. I would make them perform impossible feats, and they were never truly in danger of the bad guys. They would just punch their stupid faces in after performing some ridiculous quadruple flip pile-driver on Pizzaface or Sergeant Bananas or Rocksteady. What does any of this have to do with Alien Nightmare X?
It’s the year 2025. Comrades Alex and Victor have just returned from the Illuminati’s own planet, planet Silius. Now they are looking a ravaged Earth in the eye-sockets. Not much is left after the alien invasion. They team with a warrior that goes only by “The Possessed,” and fight to survive the attacks of the alien humanoids and spiders.
Deep within the annals of YouTube, there is a particular catacomb that when properly navigated grants access to a SOV sci-fi/horror flick that breathes like a sleeping dragon. Its scales of recycled footage and claws of bad tracking primed to unleash a blaze of rambling voiceovers, pulled punches, and regional wit. That dragon is Trashcans of Terror.
A chance meeting between our hero, a man named “Spider” (director Handy), and a disoriented powerlifter named Kathy, begets romance after some light dad-humor flirtation. When Kathy gets angry she turns silver and becomes stronger than an ox on the juice. This is explained later, kinda. After a health bar brawl resulting in $37,500 worth of damage (even though said brawl took place in the alleyway), our two heroes run for it. Kathy goes missing and Spider somehow determines that alien trashcans are to blame. It is never explained how he comes to this conclusion. He simply does, and relays this information to us with the same enthusiasm one would use when telling you they had a ham sandwich for lunch. He enlists the help of his military friend, Velasquez, to help find Kathy and fight an army of trashcans.