Curse of the Queerwolf
I should have burned it.
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
Back to Business as Usual.
Turning away from the world of barf scans and skipped flight physicals, I am sad to report that an icon of my life has been shattered. Yes, the film "Sorceress," which I have touted for years as the worst movie I've ever seen, may finally have been knocked from its pinnacle of awfulness. And by a zombie movie, of all things--namely, "Nudist Colony of the Dead."
First, a caveat: "Sorceress" is, and shall remain, the lamest, most awful sword-and-sorcery fantasy movie ever committed to film. I am confident of this fact. But for sheer, "I can't believe I'm seeing/hearing this" crapfactor, "Nudist Colony of the Dead" is the runaway victor. Here are a few salient points to keep in mind:
1) The nudity is, to say the least, unexciting. I wouldn't even call it "gratuitous." The zombies just happen to be naked.
2) The effects are awful. I balk at even calling them "effects," as they mostly consist of the inappropriate use of latex and fake blood.
3) The script has more cornball, supposed-to-be-funny-but-just-make-you-wince lines than any film I've ever seen, and features some painful ethnic stereotypes, and
4) IT'S A MUSICAL.
From the opening strains of the title song, which features lines like "undead evil with no name/exposing gonads with no shame" (I'm paraphrasing a bit) to the relentlessly repetative finale, "Kill All the Zealots" (the zombie mantra,) the music is what makes this movie beyond the f-ing pale in terms of bad film. The melodic centerpiece is a little Brady-Bunch style number called "It's an Inky-Dinky-Doo-Da Morning" which ruthlessly battered its way into my skull--much like a flesh-eating zombie, only it stayed there for hours and wouldn't leave OR finish me off. Like a flesh-eating zombie lingering over coffee and dessert. Anyway, to sum up the plot, the Sunny Buttocks Nudist Colony is forced off their land by a churchful of religious zealots. In defiance of the court order, they commit mass suicide and apparently somehow manage to bury themselves on the grounds afterwards. 10 years later, the same church goes to the site of former Sunny Buttocks for a youth retreat (where before it was right around the corner, now it's apparently 150 miles away from the church and requires a lengthy bus trip with painful musical accompanyment.) A park ranger tries to tell them--in rap form--of the danger, but Mrs. Stucco and Mrs. Luger heed him not, and fake bloody mayhem ensues. I could go into more detail, but I've got to go; my copy of the director's other film, "Curse of the Queerwolf," just arrived in the mail, and I need to decide whether to watch it or burn it....
Turning away from the world of barf scans and skipped flight physicals, I am sad to report that an icon of my life has been shattered. Yes, the film "Sorceress," which I have touted for years as the worst movie I've ever seen, may finally have been knocked from its pinnacle of awfulness. And by a zombie movie, of all things--namely, "Nudist Colony of the Dead."
First, a caveat: "Sorceress" is, and shall remain, the lamest, most awful sword-and-sorcery fantasy movie ever committed to film. I am confident of this fact. But for sheer, "I can't believe I'm seeing/hearing this" crapfactor, "Nudist Colony of the Dead" is the runaway victor. Here are a few salient points to keep in mind:
1) The nudity is, to say the least, unexciting. I wouldn't even call it "gratuitous." The zombies just happen to be naked.
2) The effects are awful. I balk at even calling them "effects," as they mostly consist of the inappropriate use of latex and fake blood.
3) The script has more cornball, supposed-to-be-funny-but-just-make-you-wince lines than any film I've ever seen, and features some painful ethnic stereotypes, and
4) IT'S A MUSICAL.
From the opening strains of the title song, which features lines like "undead evil with no name/exposing gonads with no shame" (I'm paraphrasing a bit) to the relentlessly repetative finale, "Kill All the Zealots" (the zombie mantra,) the music is what makes this movie beyond the f-ing pale in terms of bad film. The melodic centerpiece is a little Brady-Bunch style number called "It's an Inky-Dinky-Doo-Da Morning" which ruthlessly battered its way into my skull--much like a flesh-eating zombie, only it stayed there for hours and wouldn't leave OR finish me off. Like a flesh-eating zombie lingering over coffee and dessert. Anyway, to sum up the plot, the Sunny Buttocks Nudist Colony is forced off their land by a churchful of religious zealots. In defiance of the court order, they commit mass suicide and apparently somehow manage to bury themselves on the grounds afterwards. 10 years later, the same church goes to the site of former Sunny Buttocks for a youth retreat (where before it was right around the corner, now it's apparently 150 miles away from the church and requires a lengthy bus trip with painful musical accompanyment.) A park ranger tries to tell them--in rap form--of the danger, but Mrs. Stucco and Mrs. Luger heed him not, and fake bloody mayhem ensues. I could go into more detail, but I've got to go; my copy of the director's other film, "Curse of the Queerwolf," just arrived in the mail, and I need to decide whether to watch it or burn it....
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
”Well, they better not scan mine...”
Or, Why I Could Never Write a Political Blog
I am usually a fast reader. This comes in handy when I’m reading a 200 page book about the financial trials and tribuations of the New-York Historical Society for my museum administration class; but it also means I have a strong tendency to misread things in my haste. Spoonerisms are a big problem with me. So naturally, when I opened the paper this morning and skimmed past the headline “French Assembly OKs Head Scarf Ban,” what my brain saw was:
”French Assembly OK’s Head Barf Scan.”
This is a serious deal, France is legislating its secularization policies to the point of, some would say, impeding religious freedom and further marginalizing their substantial and growing Moslem population. But for me, every time I hear about this issue now I’m going to be all “Oh yeah, the barf scan thing....hee hee....”
And while it was great to hear Scott McClellan (White House Spokespatsy and my vote for Least Enviable Government Job at the moment) trying to make the handful of Bush’s military info they released seem like the Oxford English Dictionary of National Guard records--”I think these documents answer your question. I don’t care what your question is, these documents answer it,”--I just can’t get past the fact that Bush’s commanding officer in Alabama was General William Turnipseed. General Turnipseed??? And Alabamans wonder why the rest of the country won’t take them seriously.... It’s like a name off the “Andy Griffith Show.” Or "Dukes of Hazzard." "Gosh, General Turnipseed, I shore don't know where them good ol' Duke boys done hid." "That's all right, Lieutenant Flapjack--release the coon hounds." I know it’s not nice to make fun of people’s names, and especially in a matter of potentially damning seriousness about President Bush’s military service or lack thereof. But Turnipseed... Barf Scans... Snicker...
Or, Why I Could Never Write a Political Blog
I am usually a fast reader. This comes in handy when I’m reading a 200 page book about the financial trials and tribuations of the New-York Historical Society for my museum administration class; but it also means I have a strong tendency to misread things in my haste. Spoonerisms are a big problem with me. So naturally, when I opened the paper this morning and skimmed past the headline “French Assembly OKs Head Scarf Ban,” what my brain saw was:
”French Assembly OK’s Head Barf Scan.”
This is a serious deal, France is legislating its secularization policies to the point of, some would say, impeding religious freedom and further marginalizing their substantial and growing Moslem population. But for me, every time I hear about this issue now I’m going to be all “Oh yeah, the barf scan thing....hee hee....”
And while it was great to hear Scott McClellan (White House Spokespatsy and my vote for Least Enviable Government Job at the moment) trying to make the handful of Bush’s military info they released seem like the Oxford English Dictionary of National Guard records--”I think these documents answer your question. I don’t care what your question is, these documents answer it,”--I just can’t get past the fact that Bush’s commanding officer in Alabama was General William Turnipseed. General Turnipseed??? And Alabamans wonder why the rest of the country won’t take them seriously.... It’s like a name off the “Andy Griffith Show.” Or "Dukes of Hazzard." "Gosh, General Turnipseed, I shore don't know where them good ol' Duke boys done hid." "That's all right, Lieutenant Flapjack--release the coon hounds." I know it’s not nice to make fun of people’s names, and especially in a matter of potentially damning seriousness about President Bush’s military service or lack thereof. But Turnipseed... Barf Scans... Snicker...
Thursday, February 05, 2004
Amazed, But Not Shocked...
By popular request, I blog again--physics be damned! Well, I shouldn't say that, physics has played a rather key part in my life in the last few days. We've been getting a lot of freezing rain lately; gone is the soft fluffy whiteness of my last posting. Now, my street is encased in a thick coat of solid ice. The postman wouldn't deliver the mail yesterday for fear of driving his jeep into the canal. I think I saw Hans Brinker out there this morning. So the #1 law of winter physics is, don't back down the driveway too fast or you'll spin the car 90 degrees and get stuck on your way to your evening class. Yep. That's the law, and I broke it.... I rescued myself eventually, but it wasn't fun. Then TODAY, three simple words: Electric. Eel. Escape.
It wasn't my fault. I was feeding him, he got excited, and...well.... Suddenly there's four feet of eel writhing on the concrete floor of the back hall in the Waters building. Let me tell you, physics works against you when you're trying to pick up a frantic electric eel with nothing but two medium-sized fishnets.
Another meme--I always knew I was meant to be a bridge between two worlds....
By popular request, I blog again--physics be damned! Well, I shouldn't say that, physics has played a rather key part in my life in the last few days. We've been getting a lot of freezing rain lately; gone is the soft fluffy whiteness of my last posting. Now, my street is encased in a thick coat of solid ice. The postman wouldn't deliver the mail yesterday for fear of driving his jeep into the canal. I think I saw Hans Brinker out there this morning. So the #1 law of winter physics is, don't back down the driveway too fast or you'll spin the car 90 degrees and get stuck on your way to your evening class. Yep. That's the law, and I broke it.... I rescued myself eventually, but it wasn't fun. Then TODAY, three simple words: Electric. Eel. Escape.
It wasn't my fault. I was feeding him, he got excited, and...well.... Suddenly there's four feet of eel writhing on the concrete floor of the back hall in the Waters building. Let me tell you, physics works against you when you're trying to pick up a frantic electric eel with nothing but two medium-sized fishnets.
Another meme--I always knew I was meant to be a bridge between two worlds....
| You are 45% geek | You are a geek liaison, which means you go both ways. You can hang out with normal people or you can hang out with geeks which means you often have geeks as friends and/or have a job where you have to mediate between geeks and normal people. This is an important role and one of which you should be proud. In fact, you can make a good deal of money as a translator.
|
Take the Polygeek Quiz at Thudfactor.com
Not sure why I turned out to be such a hottie, but I'll take it.
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