Give a big welcome out to the Grindshack, a place where we take the best and worst of B-movie/grindhouse and watch them in Ol’ Rusty’s shack.
Why is it a Grind’shack’ you may ask? Well, I’m an independent British film-maker, which largely means I’m broke, and seeing as I’m paying the rent here I think you should keep your lack of manners and questions to yourself and listen up.
Be it brand new or covered in dust, I will hunt down the best in DVDs and VHS; long forgotten in the abyss that is the bargain bin at your local Macro’s and the going out of business corner shop with the nice Indian lady and the hugely suspect pirated movies in. It is here that I will perforate my eyeballs and lose what little sanity I left long ago in the realms of the Nakatomi Plaza and The Cube as a child of five years old. All in the just, and what I deem to be a largely heroic cause that is finding you shit to flicker in front of your face so that you become numb wasting your life away, one minute at a time until your forever rotting organism descends into its natural state of death.
Too dark? Sorry, I’ll try and lighten the mood up; maybe spruce the place up with a electric disco ball that I can shove up my ass, and gyrate my failed children off into CCTV images of a disabled man trying to hide the evidence of a self soiled carpet in the toilets of Best Buy.
Now back to the topic in hand, well I’m not quite sure what that is yet seeing as we have just started but we will find out together, and it will be a tough and long road with bad acting, musical numbers, gore, and flawed dialogue I can assure you. However, I feel that with sufficient amounts of visceral imagery and copious amounts of boob-laden sixteen by nine frames, we will find our way out of it just fine, and hopefully someone will remember to restock the beer fridge in the meantime.
So come in, sit down, mind the splinters, and let me lock the shack door – for this is where those that want to escape can’t, and those that don’t, well you probably owe me money anyway so you’re not going anywhere.
Poultrygeist: Night Of The Chicken Dead (2006)
This is one of the latest offerings from Lloyd Kaufman, Godfather of film company Troma. Banned in Blockbuster and most other retail shops for most of Troma’s almost 40 year independent history, Kaufman’s films are made solely on the basis of self funding, blagging and fan support. He is a man who gives hope and inspiration to the legions of bad movie and gore fans out there, including inspiring more high-end thieves such as the likes of Tarantino.
Starting off with our hero Arbie being fingered in the arse by a zombie (you can see why his films are banned), this tale takes a turn for the worse as the love of his life Wendy turns into a liberal lesbian muff molder, hell-bent on shutting down a new fast food chicken shop built on an ancient Indian burial ground. Naturally, to spite her, Arbie takes a job opening at Chicken Bunker, which is host to a variety of stock characters including an owner who is a former member of the Klu Klax Klan, a militant black man, a chicken-loving red neck and a singing suicide bombing Muslim, amongst others.
Part tongue-in-cheek-slapstick-comedy-horror-gore-porn with a political statement, part musical. You can’t help but be amazed at how all the different elements come together as undoubtedly the festering chicken corpses are infected by an old Indian curse and come back to life, seeking vengeance in what is easily the tour de force of Kaufman’s film career.
“You’ll be eaten alive by zombie chickens tonight, we’re all gunna die”. Our characters break out and sing as protesters and chicken bunker employees join forces against the zombie hordes threatening their lives as Arbie and Wendy fight horny chickens born out of shit, popping out of men’s breasts and biting off dicks. The gore level here is over the top to the extreme, but always fairly inventive in a comical fashion. In fact if you’re not akin to Troma sensibilities you may be taken aback at first by some obviously fake squirting of red and green liquid presented as blood – but this is the Troma way. To quote Richard Ayoade in Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace: “If you look at the strings, you’re a freak”. That’s part of the comedic charm for Troma fans, and it’s something they sure do get: it’s a Troma B-Movie that knows it’s a Troma B-Movie; an exploitation film that takes full advantage of its audience’s want of clichés and over the top sensibilities. Including Ron Jeremy.
Yes, even the Irish get a look in as Arbie breaks into a traditional jig with Kaufman in the director’s cameo. Nothing is left out in a movie that sets to mock and include everyone all at the same time.
Fans of the director’s past works will still be gagging to know, “what about the car shot?”. A exploding car flip shot that cost the notoriously tight-arsed Kaufman so much it is now included in every one of his films since Sgt. Kabukiman N.Y.P.D, regardless of continuity or need. So let me tell you: it’s the best use yet!
So what more can be said? If you have a group of friends with strong stomachs and little fanfare for political correctness, you’ve found a good home for the next hour and forty three minutes. Throw in the special edition with the karaoke disc and it’s sure to be many drunken night of multiple viewing pleasure ending with some possible kinky bed action if you have a partner so inclined.
Now, dear readers, let yourself out of my humble abode sharpish. Here’s the keys to the door; I’m going to skip to the musical lesbian orgy number and give the walls a plastering.