93 Toilet Theater Presents...

I Saw These Shits Come Failing In

It's the most commercial time of the year. The festooned fluxing LED lights of Christ are upon us, Angels. As the scent of clean, snowy pine, and rich cognac wafts up into my yule-tide nostril snot, I think to myself: "What's better than getting drunk alone at Christmastime?" The answer comes easily: "Getting drunk alone, and watching the worst flicks my holly jolly ass can find." Not to toot my own holiday fart trumpet too hard, but, my little poo-poo movie hunt went well. Here's some logs you won't want to put on the fire…

Starcrash (1979)
"AKA Starbarella's Whore Wars" 

This S&M, disco, toy spaceship, super-sound-effect, sexy, sci-fi spectacular was brought to us by none other than that snobby art house goon, Roger Corman. It stars Hamburger Hasselhoff as Prince Spaceman, Christopher Plummer as his Dad, and Cicci from Godfather (Joe Spinell) as Dark Vaber: Unmasked. There's also the weirdly religious, ramen-noodle-haired, B-flick boogie-man, Marjoe Gortner as our hero, and a scantily cheap-vinyl-clad Caroline Munro of The Spy Who Fucked Me (1977) and Maniac (1980) fame. Every frame of this space-plop is suitable for framing. Naive Art. One could really say that Starcrash is to film what Grandma Moses was to paint, but then whoever said that would just be a shitty idiot. (G-Mo Art ain't nuthin ta fuck wit.) Our hero in Starcrash is called Akton. He's so act-off, he's act-on. He has this stupid electric string toy that he plays with, and the magic space power to defrost people-sicles. According to Starcrash, the stars in space are (possibly literally) Christmas lights. Both the buttsonic sound effects in this movie as well as its dynamic dialogue will bring joy and festive cheer to your home for the holidays. It also has those cool swivel space chairs, and the most direct lightsabre knock-off in film history. Stellar shit.
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Deathsport (1978)

"No one can touch my self. I am my only master."
That's an actual quote. Corman's "writers" are my Shakespere. Deathsport opens with David Carradine (Kaz Oshay) on a white horse with a crystal sword. He's being pursued by the Silver Police. The Silver Police capture young Carradine, put him in a diaper and lock him in a futuristic electrified jail cell. They disintegrate his horse. The Silver Police have motorcycles that sound like Robot Roadrunners and wear outfits stolen from the Secret Volcano Base techs in You Only Live Twice (1967). The Silver Police are commanded by the man, the legend, Richard Lynch, who plays a Dystopian Sheriff of Nottingham type character in this one. The lord over the Silver Police (David McLean) has brain decay. He rules the desolate world of Deathsportland with a mentally challenged iron fist. What is Deathsport? Take Gladiator, Death Race 2000, Rollerball, Thunderdome, and add the zest of one Clockwork Orange. Place them in a blender with a shot of William Smithers' diarrhea, dump 'em on boxy 70's stunt bikes, and let them fucking kill each other. There you go. That's Deathsport. At least it has some dicey occasional female nudity. Merry Christmas.
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Darklight (2004)

"Lose your Equilibrium, in a Matrix of Bible-style, Sci-Fi Bullshit."

Not to be confused with the 2005 HIM album of the same name. Can somebody please tell me, how do these fuckin' things get made?? Sure, I could go on and on about all the things in Darklight that suck. Its bipolar acting, misuse of its few talented actors and total reliance on effects. How Darklight herself just looks like a brownish, poor man's Mystique (from Xmen). How the villain is just a shitty CG Green Goblin (from Spidey) with wings. How it knocks off the comic/video game, Darkness. How tired and boring the fight choreography is. I've done all that. Thankfully the sequel to this dingy shit bag, Darklight 2: Lightdark, was never made. In the proposed sequel, all the characters just turn into CG demons and fight each other for 90 minutes. It would probably have been an improvement. 

How to make a Darklight

1- Get a tiny squeeze flashlight.

2- Stick it up your ass.

3- Squeeze the little flashlight with your sphincter to switch On/Off.

4- That's it. That's what a Darklight is. Gross, huh? 

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Crime Zone (1989)
"This Is A Crime Zone. No Crimes Allowed!!"

Dude looks like a lady? Nope. Lady looks like a dude. And I'm not talking about that Madonnalike, bitch-eyebrow girl from Twin Peaks this time. I'm talking about the big lady Cop from Crime Zone. Illogical Class War? Bad neon? Cheap chain link? Crime Zone has 'em all in spades. Crime Zone's real name is Soleil. In a future where people are so advanced, they can customize their blood color, dudes wearing neon signs sell condoms in the rain, and where hardened street criminals are locked in flimsy, human-sized, wire birdcages in the street, you'd think people would have less stupid names. Instead, they have names like Bone, Creon, and Cuntmuck. OK I admit I made that last one up, but the other 2 are real. Not only did Carradine star in this, he also produced it. It's like a video voyeur on Tek-War, Bonnie and Clyde all fucking until they became one thing.

TOILET TRIVIA: Halfway through the shooting of this gassy buttfuck of a movie, its production was halted. A team of medics was called in. The entire cast had come down with a serious case of hormonal over-acting. Many were euthanized. Besides having superstars like Carradine and Ms. Eyebrows, the guy who gets that crazy knife up his ass in American Me (1992) is in it too. Dig it.

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Tuff Turf (1985)

"One Tough Teen Turd Deserves Another."

There are 2 versions of teen life from the 1980s. The one that really existed, and the phony-ass one presented to us in wonderful films like 16 Candles (1984), Fast Times At Ridgemont High (1982) or Ferris Beuller's Day Off (1986). Personally, I never experienced the former, but enjoy the fuck out of the latter. All of it. The total lack of realistic human interaction, the naiveté, the e-drums of new wave tension. The 1980's of John Hughes, Cameron Crowe, Danny Elfman and other, less talented, more drug-addled writers, directors and musicians is all people will have to remember of that time 100 years from now. The Days of Whine and Coke-shits. Tuff Turf stars 2 rare examples of extreme acting talent from the youth of this Zeitgeist. James Spader, who saw great success this year in NBC's Blacklist, and Robert Downey Jr. RDJ's genius suffered long against many substances, but has in the last decade, risen like some great flaming iron phoenix of box office cash-generation. Regardless of the presence of both these talented individuals in Tuff Turf, it is still pretty tough to watch for anyone with a brain. The great actors in it can't be blamed for this movie's worthless writing. Tuff Turf's plot and dialogue are almost universally interchangeable with any other mediocre poppy, teeny piece of shit from its era…FLUSH.
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Christmas Evil (1980)

"I Saw Mommy's Pussy Kissing Santa Claus."   

If you needed another reason to hate the fat piece of mythological Euro-trash Santa is, here you go. Christmas Evil reinforces the old movie fact: If you see your Mommy fucking, you will become a serial killer. By this same logic, if you see Mommy fucking Santa, you will become a Santa-themed serial killer. You'll make a list. Check it twice. Slice up who's naughty and give the parts to who's nice. Christmas Evil tells the story of one such Serial Claus. His name is Harry. He works on an I Love Lucy-style assembly line building toys. He's one of those assholes who writes it down every time somebody fucks with him. He sits alone in his hovel shaking and humming Santa Claus Is Coming To Town with even more rage and fervor than Bruce Springsteen as he plans his vengeance. Instead of a sleigh, Harry has a festive rape van. Instead of blaming their shitty parents, he seeks to kill naughty kids in his neighborhood. This disgruntled employee Santa Claus is more that just a little askew. He's a reason to poison your milk and cookies. As much as there is wrong with Harry, there is even more wrong with the movie itself. The whole thing looks like it was shot with some guy's Dad's camcorder. Both technically and in it's storytelling, Christmas Evil was not hung by the chimney with care. Really it should've just been tossed in the fireplace.
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Toilet Theater's going down for a long winter's nap. I'll be back next year with more video crap. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a clean wipe. The Bloggy Creek Xmas Special comes out Christmas night. See you then.

-2013 Wielgorecki