Some weekends are just insane. I felt kind of like a chicken running around sans head, but found myself with a chunk of time to kill…thanks to Netflix, IFC and Saint James St. James, I killed it alright. It went for some R & R in Nilbog, had it’s dick bitten off by some pussy teeth and it’s corpse slowly disintegrated by chlorine. Good times, I say.
I suppose I should elaborate, I started out on this adventure with a documentary called “Best Worst Movie”, a chronicle of the ‘cult film’ status of the film “Troll 2”. The original flick was written and directed by an Italian couple whose insistence on “knowing American” more than the film’s actors produced a movie that was stiff, dialogue that seemed more fitting for Doris Roberts than the young actress it was coming out of, and ultimately a film that earned the title “Best Worst Movie”.
I’ve never seen “Troll 2”, or the completely separate “Troll”. This documentary was still absolutely worth watching. George Hardy who played the father in the movie is just adorable. Utterly surprised by the cult status this little embarrassment he’d participated in nearly 20 years ago had attained, he reveled a bit and was hands down the star of the documentary. If nothing else, I found myself so touched by his genuine nature, that it made this entire viewing experience worthwhile.
The film, however, posed a very serious question, can one set out to make a horrible movie or are horrible movies just victims of circumstance?
I popped in “Poolboy 2: Drowning Out The Fury” to try and find an answer. However, life, as it often does, threw a wrench in my plans and I found myself on doggie daycare duty.
Plus side: The pup’s owners have a fantastic cable package.
Enter: “Teeth”. While channel guide surfing, this movie on IFC caught my eye, most notably so, as in it’s description I saw the words “comedy horror”. The movie is about a girl who is saving herself. Promise ring, club meetings, and the like. Her promise physically manifested itself into the good ole’ myth of teeth in her vagina. What ensues is a laugh inducing good time of dicks and fingers plopping out of a vagina. The blood squirting antics seemingly know no bounds. The non-dick-biting scenes, however, are a bit dull. I felt as though the writers were genuinely trying to produce a horror film, complete with suspense and twists. They tried to make a bad movie, yes, but they were also trying to make a horror film…and as a very wise man once said, you can’t half ass two things and expect success, you pick one and you whole ass that fucker. I paraphrased. A bit.
So I sat back and hit play on Poolboy. Trying once again to watch this glorious display of bad-for-the-sake-of-being-bad movie and see if indeed, one could set out to make a ‘bad’ movie or if it truly does have to be left to the cinema gods. I’ve watched it before. Plenty of times. But never with this purpose. Never trying to study the mechanics with the humor as the aside.
I still laughed. I still came out of it with the feeling of “this is the best movie I ever watched”.
My conclusion is one that I suppose…Well, I should have seen coming–you can choose to make a bad movie, but you must whole ass that fucker!