May 31st, 2008


Cheezy Flicks, one of the leading manufacturers of cult movie trailer compilations, brings us yet another flawed, but entertaining hour of vintage science fiction previews. 


This time out we get trailers for:  The Day the Earth Stood Still, The Flesh Eaters (“They kill anything that comes between them and their meat!”), The Brain Eaters (“It will burst your blood vessels with suspense!”), The Atomic Man, The Last Days of Man on Earth, Day of the Animals, Invisible Invaders, Empire of the Ants, The Day Mars Invaded Earth (“Marked for Martian vengeance!”), Superargo and the Faceless Giants, Barbarella, Enemy from Space, Rollerball, It! The Terror from Beyond Space, Planet of the Vampires, Invaders from Mars, Futureworld, The Day of the Triffids, Silent Running, The Navy vs. The Night Monsters, The Time Machine, Message from Space, Death Race 2000, Battle for the Planet of the Apes, and Conquest of the Planet of the Apes.   


Even though this volume features trailers for four films that wound up playing on Mystery Science Theater 3000 (The Giant Spider Invasion, Women of the Prehistoric Planet, Laserblast, and Phase IV), there’s also a preview for 2001:  A Space Odyssey, which I wouldn’t really call “cheezy”.  Oh well. 


Like most of Cheezy’s comps, it’s got a lot of trailers previously featured in their other collections (The Thing from Another World, Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, Return of the Fly, Forbidden Planet, Fantastic Voyage, and Five Million Years to Earth), but I guess they needed the padding to jack up the running time to an hour.  It’s not perfect, but if you’re a sucker for hour long trailer compilations (like me), you’ll definitely want to check it out. 


Okay, I know that most of you guys are going to be hurting from this movie.  It’s bad.  Real bad.  Yeah, I know your wife or girlfriend will tell you, “You took me to see Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull, so now you have to see Sex and the City with me!”  Fellas, I know Indy 4 was bad but trust me, about halfway through this shitfest you’ll be on your knees begging for a crystal skull to pop up somewhere.


For all of you who don’t Mitch’s Rule for Chick Flicks; allow me to clue you in.  It’s a known medical fact that Chick Flicks are detrimental to a guy’s health.  In order for a guy to be able to sit through a chick flick, he must be promised sex afterwards.  The worse the Chick Flick, the more the chick has to put out.  For example:


Four stars = Kiss on the cheek.  Now before you say, “But Mitch, there are no such things as a four star Chick Flick”, but you’re wrong.  There is ONE and it was called Terms of Endearment and it was worth sitting through solely because of Jack Nicholson’s awesome performance.  Four star Chick Flicks only come along once in a lifetime and don’t let your mate forget it.


Three stars = Hand job.  Three star Chick Flicks come around about once every four or five years and are low on torture, but still contain enough lovey dovey bull honkey to warrant SOME sexual satisfaction for the male.  See:  High Fidelity.


Two stars = Blow job.  Two star Chick Flicks feature LOTS of lovey dovey bull honkey and/or a terminal illness but most likely will feature at least one very masculine actor that the male audience can identify with, like Patrick Swayze in Ghost.  These films are usually followed by oral retribution on the female’s part to justify the man’s waste of $9 for the movie ticket and/or any other expenditures his date may require like cab fare or Super Sizing her Value Meal.


One star = Sex in the V-Hole.  One star Chick Flicks are a dime a dozen.  If your woman drug you to see The Devil Wears Prada, you get to fuck her.  Marie Antoinette?  You get to fuck her.  My Big Fat Greek Wedding?  You get to fuck her.  Girls, there’s no way around this one; it’s the law in the 48 continental United States.


No stars = You get to do her in the pooper.  These flicks happen every so often but when they do; have the Anal-Ease ready.  It doesn’t matter if she’s an anal virgin; she got to give up the sphincter.  Seriously, the promise of anal intercourse is the only way a man can sit through the movie Beaches without blowing his brains out with a shotgun.  (Which probably also explains that movie’s tremendous following among the gay community.)


Which brings us to Sex and the City; the feature length theatrical retread of the hit HBO show in which Sarah Jessica Parker, Kim Cattrall, Cynthia Nixon and uh… that other chick, run around New York City with shopping bags in their hands and act like lobotomized oversexed cocktail hostesses.  Bringing a TV show to the big screen can be tricky business, but if we’ve learned anything from Star Trek, Mystery Science Theater and Serenity, we know it can be done and done properly.  Unfortunately, movies based on TV shows that feature four numb cunts jibber jabbering for two and a half hours non-stop don’t always fare as well as movies based on TV shows featuring space ships.


That’s right, you heard me:  TWO AND A HALF HOURS!  This is the Return of the King of Chick Flicks, people.  When you think it’s over, it isn’t.  When it SHOULD be over, it isn’t.  It just goes on and on and on. 


And of that two and a half hour running time, only 45 seconds of it is devoted to actual sex!  I’m not kidding.  We’re talking 45 seconds of “Sex” and two hours, twenty nine minutes and fifteen seconds of “City”.


Speaking of sex, there are only FIVE titties in the whole movie, and only two of whom belong to Cynthia Nixon.  That’s right; they paid those four cunts millions of dollars and only ONE of them shows off their goodies.  RIP OFF!  Not to mention that the flick tosses in every single Chick Flick cliché in the book.  There’s a wedding, a birth, a divorce, and a break-up.  Oh yeah, and all men are portrayed either as assholes or they’re gay. 


The cast is all thoroughly annoying.  While Sarah Jessica Parker looks like an emaciated Barbra Streisand, co-stars Jennifer (Dreamgirls) Hudson and Candice (Murphy Brown) Bergen look like they were paid in coupons for the Sizzler buffet.  


All I got to say is ladies; make your men feel good after the film.  (Don’t worry though; you’ll probably end up having less sex tonight than what was in this movie, so it’s all good.)  Anyway it could be worse.  At least you girls won’t go home walking funny tonight. 

TENEMENT (1985) ** ½


Robert (Blood Sisters) Findlay directed this sick but joyless exploitation shocker that’s basically Death Wish 3 minus Charles Bronson. 


When the superintendent of a slummy apartment complex calls the cops on the rat eating, PCP smoking multiethnic gang members who are squatting in his basement, he incurs the wrath of their Cherokee Indian leader.  The gang gets off on a technicality and celebrates by getting higher than hippie in a helicopter.  Then they decide to get revenge by murdering and mutilating all the tenants in the fleabag apartment building. 


First they kill an old blind man’s dog; then they rape a single mother.  While she’s being violated, she’s able to grab a pair of scissors and shove them into the rapist’s eyeball.  Then the gang kills her by shoving a broomstick up her twat!  Brilliant.  Next they ram a machete through a Mexican greaseball and knife a burned out junkie while his hooker wife watches.  After that, the gang leader oils up his woman’s titties with blood from a victim before getting down and dirty with her, then the psychos slash an old lady’s throat with a straight razor.  The scared tenants finally get their shit straight and band together to fight the thugs.  The final confrontation features everything from electrocution to groin Ginsuing to hot water scalding to bitches being squished by a refrigerator as the slum dwellers get their revenge. 


Tenement features gallons of blood and lots of assorted mayhem, but not enough to make it truly worthwhile.  Findlay’s direction is grim and unrelenting, but the film suffers from a lack of a singular sympathetic hero.  Instead we get a bunch of pathetic stereotypical supporting characters and amateurish bit players.  Without a strong hero to root for, sadly Tenement loses much of it’s intended impact.  While none of the apartment denizens make much of an impression, Paul (Pulp Fiction) Calderon and Dan (Cigar Face from The Toxic Avenger) Snow put in memorable turns as psychotic gangbangers.


The excellent rap theme song by Kool Krew is dope enough to make up lay down some cardboard and spin on your head.


AKA:  Game of Survival.  AKA:  Slaughter in the South Bronx.