DIRECTED BY HERSCHELL GORDON LEWIS
BOX OFFICE SPECTACULARS, INC.
Here is where we should begin our disquisition on the ephemeral nature of what constitutes art vis-à-vis garbage, and engage in deep contemplation on the revealed substance and its relation to the Ideal, and how mere imitation or re-creation can only hope to further distance us from the knowledge of this state of perfection. We should, but we won’t, because gore impresario, auteur loon and marketing maven Herschell Gordon Lewis would probably laugh and point at us. His frankly ridiculous tale of catering a Society party with an “authentic Egyptian Feast” as a hopeful means of reviving the goddess Ishtar via cannibalism features some impossibly wooden acting, hilariously half-assed set dressing, excessively expository dialogue, indubitably fake blood, transparently ersatz makeup and FX, rudimentary cinematography, et cetera et cetera et cetera et cetera. (And in the midst of life we are in debt, et cetera.) Blows the doors off the insipid remake I panned a few weeks back, ably demonstrating the difference between a “bad” movie and the truly wretched.
WHY DID I WATCH THIS MOVIE?
Well, I watched the other one, didn’t I. You know, years back, I toiled at a mail-order company, the offbeat small-business-owner of which enjoyed visiting Lewis’s marketing website. He also enjoyed pointing out Lewis’s track record of proven “pull.”
SHOULD YOU WATCH THIS MOVIE?
It’s barely over an hour long!
HIGHLIGHT AND LOW POINT
It’s barely over an hou – yeah, just joshing, sorry. Scott H. Hall and Mal Arnold, as “police captain” and “Fuad Ramses,” respectively, suffice for shorthand. Hall is so terrible a thespian he shoulda been a “star” for Ed Wood, Jr., and Arnold is an expressionistic delight – the reductio ad absurdum of the Method. (And the sine qua non of any effort like this one.)
RATING FROM OUTER SPACE: B
This lousy endeavor became an endurance test of sorts, as I could hardly wait for it to finish taking up my valuable time with its lousy acting, unnatural dialogue, odd tempo and beginner’s camerawork. This 
Hey, a new competitor for worst movie on this site! For some reason turning one of the best and most impactful horror movies ever made into an extended bout of broadly drawn “humor,” aggravating characterizations, little plot and no point, TCM2 is a chore to endure. Insulting in its carelessness, this flick only could have been more of a cartoon had The Mystery Machine appeared. (Much of the action takes place in an abandoned amusement park, for crying out loud. Where were the Harlem Globetrotters and Phyllis Diller?) Leatherface – sorry, “Bubba” – is reminiscent of Fred Gwynne as Herman Munster, which is not a compliment, much as Bill Moseley’s horrible character seems to have presaged alleged funnyman Jim Carrey’s equally irritating “Fire Marshall Bill.” (And in actuality was a template for Michael Keaton’s Betelgeuse.) Meanwhile, Dennis Hopper spends the first half of the film not even pretending he gives half a damn and the second half hamming it up wildly. Mr. Hooper allegedly wanted to compensate for the audience’s not recognizing the black humor in the original, but this extremely stupid and classless farce raises the question whether his first attempt was just a happy accident. Also commits the sequel’s sin of reductionism while simultaneously destroying continuity – a hapless combination. And the FX suck, too. Excruciating and disgraceful.
As this oddly delayed sequel began – a decade after the first installment – I confess, I really, really wanted to bag on it; the onset is not promising and it appeared as though it would be a cliché-ridden parade of stock characters and situations. Credit where it’s due, however – this film delivers exactly what it’s supposed to deliver, and it does it well. Not overly saddled with any particular panache, and devoid of much in the way of creativity beyond the overall “Strangers” framework, it’s still adept at ratcheting up the tension and producing effectively understated frights. Wisely, the palette is opened up a bit from the original, as the characters are not confined to one specific place, and although some of what could be termed “character development” verges on slasher-film shtick, it remains essentially rooted in realism. It IS a bit meta, however, occasionally evoking the line productions of the post-Scream era, and perhaps a bit predictable when it morphs into a revenge picture for a while. All told, a few groans don’t detract much. No classic, but it will entertain you well enough.
Now that 
A tale of Nature Gone Horribly Wrong, this likable B-movie set in America but filmed in New Zealand proudly blares its very ’90s soundtrack whenever possible. But after dispensing with its Meet Cute (well, sort of; it involves both a dead engine and a dead pet), this chipper horror comedy rather quickly started reminding me of the legendary cult favorite Tremors. Then a completely unexpected detour occurs, and although it’s short and ultimately slight, the film never seems to regain its bearings. From that point onward, the action escalates, things keep exploding, and the characters, finding themselves in one impossible situation after another, seem to devolve as the creatures they’re battling keep rapidly adapting. Maybe that’s supposed to be a parallel. Or a paradox. Whatever it is, it becomes difficult to tell what the producers wished to achieve. Unless it was to remind one of Tremors. It ends abruptly.
Now here we have a bona fide black comedy. This is a dark, dark picture, but it is laced throughout with unmistakable pathos, and the escalation of terrible miseries suffered by the eponymous character produces a kind of shell-shocked humor. Certainly, very little in this movie is funny per se, but it lurches enough toward the absurd to make it matter. It would be hard to definitively describe this as a horror film, but in all honesty, I’m not sure what else it could be called, either, given the internally logical extreme it eventually reaches. Carried not only by its madcap premise – May has trouble making friends, let’s say – but by the outstanding title performance from Angela Bettis, it’s an engaging accomplishment. Which is not to say it’s for everyone. In fact, a sequence or two in the latter half had me watching from between my fingers, and I seek out movies like this on purpose. But it manages to tug at the heartstrings in between blows to the head, and even the hokey (and ultimately predictable) final scene couldn’t besmirch it too much. I can see why this was a critical success.
Okay. Well. The sequel to the previously discussed paragon of benevolence and good feelings Offspring, this lighthearted jest manages to outdo its predecessor in casting aspersions on the boundaries of human behavior. And that’s accomplished long before the revolting gore brightens things up. Starting its bleak portrayal of life in human society limning a few quirks and oddities, gradually revealing more depravity layer by layer and eventually producing complete incredulity, this movie is a skillful demonstration of how to achieve perfection in the art of shining a light on things your audience probably would have felt better never, ever seeing. A true sickie, horrible in almost every way by textbook definition.
Like, wow, man. Like, I hadn’t even planned on watching this movie, but as I was about to start viewing The Woman, which I had contemplated doing for quite some time, I suddenly discovered it’s a sequel to this one, of which I had previously been unaware. And! Yikes. Allow me to take a moment here to offer an aside: Offspring novelist (and screenwriter) “Jack Ketchum” is a very, very effective purveyor of terribly unsettling material, and is in fact the author of the rare novel I did not finish because I found it too emotionally disruptive (The Girl Next Door). Nothing that occurs in this film is all that unprecedented in our filmic experience, but it is profoundly disturbing nonetheless. Ideals such as “fairness” and “justice” have no place in Ketchumland, and sometimes the action provokes a sense of outrage. It may, in some minds, border on the obscene. Anyway, this movie is about a clan of cannibals living a prehistoric tribal existence and preying on unsuspecting suburbanites. It also harbors a subplot of extreme marital discord and disharmony. Abandon all hope.
Also known, in the United Kingdom at least, as Harpoon: Reykjavik Whale Watching Massacre – probably to distinguish it from all the other movies titled “Harpoon” or because “Reykjavik Whale Watching Massacre” wasn’t a descriptive enough title for a movie about a massacre that takes place during a whale-watching expedition in the waters around Iceland – RWWM is a odd little slice of bad tidings. It’s also funny, after a fashion; the term used could be “black humor” were it not quite so ill-mannered or misanthropic. Actually, one of the most interesting things about this exercise in callous, gratuitous cruelty is how the alleged humor is played – very offhandedly, for the most part. By this I mean there’s no setup and no reaction to any of the moments of presumable mirth; they’re just a part of the mélange. It’s quite an approach, and adds an appealing touch of cinéma vérité to a picture that probably doesn’t warrant it. Not as much of a feel-good film as one might expect from the uplifting title.
SPACE RATS From Outer Space 