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This week:

Filthy says:
"Uwe Boll, you Magnificent Bastard!."

Sometimes I get e-mails from people asking me if I want a bigger dick. And sometimes I get e-mails asking why I review bad movies. The answer to the first question is, yes, I do. I won't be satisfied until my dick is two feet long, and I will buy every supplement advertised in e-mail. For the second question, I wonder if they e-mail their local newspaper critics and ask them the same thing. I review bad movies because the grassfuckers make bad movies. Besides, even if a flick looks like the biggest steaming load of shit since Lucille Ball ate the Riviera buffet in 1964, you can never assume that everyone agrees.

That's because there are people who are incredibly stupid. In fact, think of the stupidest person you know and understand that there is someone even dumber out there. Hell, you'd think everyone knows eating rat poison is a bad idea, but the companies still have to put a big fucking warning on the box. Even if you personally don't need the label, there is someone who does. So, consider some of my reviews the movie equivalent of the warning on rat poison; a way to save morons from themselves. And it's mostly morons who read my reviews. I'm sure there are very few people who think Uew Boll's latest tainted stool Bloodrayne will be any good, or even better than being assfisted by an ape. But someone might.

In fact, unlike when I went to see director Uwe Boll's gangrape of a movie Alone in the Dark, there were other people in the theater on Friday night. They were awake, and apparently knew they were seeing Bloodrayne. It's a good thing I showed up, too, because a few of them had snuck rat poison in as a snack.

"Don't eat that!" I shouted. "And don't watch this!"

Sadly, my warning was to no avail. By the time the lights came back up in the AMC Westminster's Theater 9, two people in Arena Football T-shirts were foaming at the eyes and twitching uncontrollably. I'll never know if it was the movie or the rat pellets that killed them.

Bloodrayne sucks goat tits. It sucks shit and smelly ass. It sucks the husks off corn, the foreskin off dicks, the shit off the submissive in a Dirty Sanchez. It sucks harder and more sloppily than a Bennigan's waitress on her lunch break, but costs slightly less. It is, however, better than Alone in the Dark. That's not to say it's good, it's just that it's like getting a staph infection below the knee instead of the entire leg.

Like all Boll movies, Bloodrayne is based on a moderately successful video game whose rights he got cheaply. He got a hack (Guinevere Turner) to crap out a script, and shot it on the cheap in low-budget foreign locations with Z-grade talent like Kristianna Lokken, Meatloaf, Matt Davis, Billy Zane, Michele Rodriguez, Michael Madsen and Ben Kingsley. For the actors, appearing in a Uwe Boll is a declaration that they act for money and have costly addictions that must be fed. It also declares that they have less self-respect than a Tri-Delt. It's like falling on a spiral of shame and bumping your head on every step all the way down to the bottom.

I'm going to try to explain the plot, but I'm not sure I understood it. I'm almost positive that nobody involved in its making did, and that most of them didn't even try. In a cheaply rendered mideival/rennaissance/old-timey world that looks part Oliver Twist and part high school carnival where everyone lives in giant castles made of painted foam, Lokken is some sort of human/vampire hybrid who can help defeat the Kingsley, the king of the vampires. Like all vampire kings, Kingsley wants to take over the world. Madsen leads a band of freedom fighters who are, apparently, losing the war against the bloodsuckers.

Lokken is Kingsley's daughter, but other than that being repeated often, it means little to the story. There is some nonsense about a dead vampire who left parts of his body across the countryside, and some sort of race to collect the body parts. I never understood why Kingsley wanted Lokken, or why Lokken went around looking for the body parts when Kingsley would never be able to find them all if she didn't. When Kingsley finally captures Lokken he wants to kill her because he now has the eyeball and heart she found. And Rodriguez is the dandy fop billy Zane's daughter, which causes some complications, I guess. Something about betrayal, but Rodriguez and Zane are as undercooked as an Easy-Bake Oven brownies. Again, nobody involved in the movie really bothered explaining the motivations.

This movie is cheap looking as the red-dot rack at the Goodwill. During the opening credits, Boll attempts some sweeping panoramas of the ancient landscape, but he's too damn lazy to wipe out a highway and a small, modern city. The sets look left over from a Mideival Times office party and some old Golan-Globus movies. Costumes have a vague sense of old timeyness, as though the costume designer pillaged the rennaissance faire at the "special" school. The girls wear midriff-baring bustiers and hotpants similar to those Randy "Macho Man" Savage wore in the 80s and also, I guess, waifs of ancient time liked on a cold wintery night. Kingsley, Meatloaf and Zane shoot their roles on single sets, probably in one day apiece. The biggest expenditure on the set was the smoke machines that Boll overuses to mask the dinginess.

There are more fights in Bloodrayne than at nickel beer night in Comiskey Park. The difference is Comiskey is way more entertaining. These fights are sloppy, unoriginal and as one-sided as a stroke victim. The good guys almost never lose, and usually just slash right through their victims, who spout geysers of blood that would make Yellowstone jealous. Seriously, the blood is so over-the-top and unreal, and the spurting is so silly I wondered how much fish you'd have to eat to have so strong a heart.

The story is as convoluted and full of inconsistencies as one of my three a.m. tales to Mrs. Filthy explaining why my hands are covered in blue dye. Early, Lokken says she does not know who Kingsley is. Later she tells someone else he raped and murdered her mother while she watched. Usually, you remember those sorts of things. Everyone is looking for these dead vampire parts, yet Lokken finds one after a fortune-teller says that it's common knowledge that it's in a monastery. Both the good and bad guys don't know where Lokken is going, yet manage to be ahead of her on her journey.

The dialog is stiffer than Pinocchio's dick. It is occasionally old-timey, but only when the Turner remembered to try it that way. The attempts are not researched, just the sort of starchy phrasing that high school kids aspiring to the Society for Creative Anachronism use while ordering lunch. You have to stomach lines like, "Fruits in every color of the rainbow." Which, I guess, means Skittles? "Sunsets that set the whole sky on fire." And, "If a fight is what they want, a fight is what we shall give them."

Perhaps most disturbing is the weirdo attempt at some sort of goth erotic vibe. It's nice when Lokken and Davis hump for no good reason and in a most awkward way. But, we get to see Lokken's tits a bunch there, and they are very nice. Nice enough to make me forget Davis lousy mullet. However, in the middle of the movie there is some sort of vampire orgy with fake blood and lots of writhing that made even this most ardent porn lover feel queasy. Watch in the background of this scene to see actors who are clearly as uncomfortable with this horrid attempt at eroticism as I was. Meatloaf rubs blood on one lady's nipple, and others others lounge around half naked dripping endlessly like snot from a hooker on an endless coke bender.

Bloodrayne is pure shit. So pure that if people shot up shit instead of heroin this would be a million bucks a kilo. But they don't, and turds should have a warning labels before anyone tries. One Finger for the Uwe Boll's latest crapterpiece. And I can't wait for the next.

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Shawn Edwards of Fox-TV

In Last Holiday "Queen Latifah is sensational!...Audiences are going to love this movie!"

Hoodwinked is "the funniest animated feature since the Shrek movies!"

Filthy's Reading
Tom Perotta - Election

Listening to
The Amps - Pacer


Straight Story