I
think this movie just ejaculated into my brain...
So
I just watched Manborg, a super low budget sci-fi action masterpiece from a small film making collective out of Canada called
Astron 6. I'd never heard of them up until now, but apparently they
are mostly known for short films and have some affiliation with
Troma, a movie canon with which I am woefully inexperienced given
my tastes for schlock. If Wikipedia is to be believed (as it always should be)
the film cost merely $1000 Canadian dollars to make, and to say that
this fact blows my mind is the greatest understatement in the history
of mind blowing. Manborg is as awesome a movie as I could ever
conceive, as if the producers somehow crept into my brain Inception
style, pulled out everything I've ever wanted to see in a movie, and
just made all of it, all at once. It left me breathlessly fist
pumping into the air from beginning to end, and all I can say now
after I've watched it is that this, is a thing, that exists!
If you would like to hear my podcast exclusively about this awful movie, CLICK HERE!
I’ve already touched upon the work of Charles Band on this site a few times before, and featured his film The Haunted Dollhouse in a segment of This Is A Thing That Exists, a section of my blog I reserve for movies so strange that they have to be seen to be believed. I hesitate to talk about the current film Ooga Booga in the same way, because while it is definitely insane enough to qualify, it is not one that I would recommend seeing, even in order to confirm its existence. This movie is so unnecessarily, and I would guess intentionally bad that I have come to believe that Mr. Band at some point became aware of my past praise of his work, and out of some contrarian impulse decided to make a movie solely for the purpose of making me personally regret being a fan. I almost want to just let it go and go back to a simpler time when I could pretend that it was not the case, but as much as I do not wish it to be so, I must admit that this, is a thing…that exists.
Yeah, that's the stuff. Breathe it in people. This is what This Is A Thing That Exists! is all about. This series is meant for those special examples of strange pop culture awesome for which concepts like good and bad are ill-equipped to describe the sheer insanity therein. And have I got a treat for you today. It's an obscure French animated film from last year called The Suicide Shop, and it is simply glorious. Its a disturbing smorgasbord of dark comedy nihilism with all the bright colors and musical numbers you would expect from the cutest of kids movies. It is an epic modern day fable extolling the virtue of killing yourself, until we all learn the valuable lesson that living is better than dying. Because, you know, we totally needed a cartoon to teach that.
For more of my blathering about this in audio form, click here to listen to my podcast!
I have borne witness to the mouth of madness, and it is The Oogieloves In The Big Balloon Adventure. There are no words fit to describe just how this movie made me feel. This strange amalgam of thoughts and emotions coalescing in my brain attempting in vain to make some sort of sense and judgement concerning what I just experienced is spiraling out of control like that kid from the end of Akira, only with my cerebellum as the giant exploding tumor baby thing. This movie is what turns Cthulu's hair white. Spitting in the face of centuries of biblical philosophy attempting to prove the existence of a loving God, and proving once and for all that no matter what we do, the human race is doomed, this, is a thing, That Exists!
In the past on this blog I've mentioned my perhaps out-sized love and appreciation for the company currently known as Full Moon Features, as well as its long time producer and schlock master Charles Band. The Full Moon movies of the 80's and early 90's were, for better or worse, my first real introduction to horror and fantasy as a kid just by virtue of being so easily accessible at my local video store, and even though I have long since developed a better understanding of the classic horror canon, I can't shake the nostalgic glee I get whenever I see that little lunar logo show up on a DVD. This some might say misplaced passion is what led me to pick up The Haunted Dollhouse, a recycled anthology film centered around the subject that made Band famous, killer dolls, and after watching it, the only thing I can say about it is that this, is a thing, that exists!
No, I don't mean there's actually a talking cat that someone discovered out in the real world. That is not a thing that exists. A Talking Cat!?! is a movie I just found, and yes, the exclamation point/question mark/escalation point punctuation is officially part of the title. This film is, quite simply, amazing. I am in awe. Many have cited Tommy Wiseau's The Room as the pinnacle of terrible movies, a movie so bad that it transcends the very notion of terribleness into sublime unintentional comedy. Without any hyperbole, I would submit that this film, A Talking Cat (!?!) surpasses The Room in sheer craptitude in the first ten minutes, peeing right in its face as it does all of ours like so many Nicole Kidmans on so many jellyfish bitten Zach Effrons. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, This, is a Thing, that Exists!...!?!
Okay, that's a lie. I probably have lots of words, and since you're evidently going to read them here, prepare yourself, because I'm quite sure they won't be making all that much sense. I just finished watching a movie called Freddie as F.R.O.7 about a frog secret agent voiced by Ben Kingsley, and it might just be the weirdest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life. I am dumb founded. I didn't know what series I would place this under on my blog when I started watching it, or even if it was going to be worth writing about at all, but now that I've survived it, all I can say about Freddie As F.R.O.7 is...This, Is A Thing, That Exists!
My favorite movie of all time is The Secret of NIMH, and if I have one blind spot when it comes to movies and film criticism, it's animation, and in particular traditional hand drawn animation. It takes a lot for me to hate an animated movie. That's not to say there aren't many I very much dislike, but even the lesser ones possess a certain charm, or at least have some element I can latch onto to appreciate, if only from a position of nostalgia for a slowly dying medium. Freddie As F.R.O.7 isn't a bad movie, or anything close to a good movie. I'm not even sure it's a movie to be quite honest. I don't know if it's an experiment in absurdest or dada-esque storytelling, or just eight movies mashed together at the script stage and morphed into some unrecognizable monster of a thing. I have no frame of reference for this, nothing to appreciate on any level.
I come to you all today, perplexed. Actually, now that I think about it, perplexed doesn't quite cover it. I am saddened. No, saddened doesn't work either. Put simply, I have lost all faith in mankind, and have now resigned myself to the only hope I have left, namely that the human race will soon be eradicated by some horrifying Lovecraftian apocalypse. Why have I suddenly joined a cult of Cthulu you may ask? Well, it's because just recently, while perusing YouTube for random music videos, I stumbled upon one such video that in a few short minutes proceeded to effortlessly and brutally destroy my soul with one swift crunch of its metaphorical boot heel. You may now rightly question my sincerity, and assume that I must be employing some level of hyperbole. If you are free to question this, then count yourself lucky, as this means that you have evidently not yet seen what I have seen, and as such do not have the ability to comprehend the mind-bending terror that is the song "Dance" by Big Sean featuring Nicki Minaj.
Of course I use that title in an effort to be somewhat coy, knowing full well that it does not in any way describe the content of the song, and in fact is a word that never appears in the song's lyrics, which is much better exemplified by its parenthetical subtitle - "(Ass)." Of course, once again I am being somewhat elusive, as the true subtitle, thoroughly more accurate, is in fact not "(Ass)," or even "(ASS)," but rather "(A$$)." Now, before I continue, a few preliminary concerns. First, for those of you who are used to coming to this website for articles and columns related to movies and the occasional television show, I apologize for eschewing your expectations by examining a music video. However, as I will soon illustrate, to call the content of this video music is itself incredibly misleading, and I will argue that this piece should be regarded more as a short film than anything playable on MTV, falling into the same genre as whatever that video Malcolm McDowell watches in A Clockwork Orange. I would also like to point out that I am well aware that this video was released several months ago as of this writing and has no doubt made whatever contribution to our culture that it is going to make. To this, I can only admit my ignorance of modern popular culture. As I said, I only just discovered this video a few days ago, and as I have not yet read any stories about rivers running red with blood, I feel that there is still time to get my two cents in before the full force of this terrible thing is felt by the world.
Okay. Breathe, Ben. Breathe. To begin.
I'm sorry, but you'll have to bear with me here, because this is all still very difficult to process. It is probably impossible to describe in full detail just how crapmazing this video is. Perhaps an example is in order. A few years ago, a criminally underrated movie was released called Idiocracy. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it, if only because it provides the context for my current subject in a way I could never do as well in prose. To summarize, a man is cryogenically frozen and wakes up to find himself in a future world where the human race has become somehow even stupider than it is now. There's much more to it, but I bring it up only to cite one scene in particular, when the film's protagonist wanders into a movie theater to sample the latest cinema that this new world has to offer. He finds that the top-grossing, most critically acclaimed movie of the day is a film called, simply Ass, and that's all it is. For hours. Now, with this in mind, let me quote for you the entire chorus of the song "Dance (A$$)."
"Ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass. Stop. Now make that motherfucker Hammer Time."
In case you're worried, no, I did not just stroke out at my keyboard. That is not one, not two, but FIFTEEN "asses" in succession. And that's the hook, the part that's supposed to get us all interested in what this song has to offer. Perhaps it is to Big Sean's credit that he provides the small mercy of deliberately stopping at fifteen "asses," because clearly sixteen would have been just one too many and certainly would have ruined the whole rhythm of the song. I don't want to dwell too much on the chorus and leave the impression that it is my only problem with the song, because as you will soon see, I have many. Still, I can only go back to Idiocracy. There are those moments when satire becomes reality, when a warning made in jest becomes deadly serious and all we can do is mourn the loss of our good judgement. A few years ago when I saw the movie Bamboozled by Spike Lee, I remember thinking that as much as I loved the film, the idea that a modern white audience would tolerate the return of minstrel shows was just too ridiculous to accept. Then I saw Transformers 2 and watched as the crowd in the theater laughed uproariously as two twin robots, wearing CGI in place of grease paint, shucked and jived their way into America's hearts. These are moments that make a sane man weep, and "Dance (A$$)" is now, for me, only the most recent.
Oh, and if you're wondering, yes, there was also an MC Hammer reference in there. And it's not just a lyrical point; the song actually samples "Hammer Time." This may not strike anyone as particularly unusual considering the prevalence of sampling in today's music, but I think it is, at the very least, a particularly egregious example. First on the general point, have they really run out of good songs from the 70's and 80's to sample that they are now picking over the dregs of the 90's? Has all the half-way decent Motown, Disco, and New Wave music been cannibalized at this point that rappers (I refuse to say rap artists in this case) are now forced to find inspiration in MC fucking Hammer? Don't get me wrong, I hate sampling and every time I hear one of my favorite classic songs re-purposed so that some talentless asshole can talk over it about his dick, who he puts it in, how much money he has, and how many guns he's bought with it, a part of my childhood dies a little. Even so, when I am forced to listen to this crap, the few familiar sounds of the sampled beat are typically the only part I can find any enjoyment in. Also, "Hammer Time"? Really? Did we all forget that that song was itself sampled from Rick James? Have we really reached a point where everything good has been stolen, and we must now steal from the thieves? Is this not how ancient Rome fell to its own depravity? And the video itself is even sampled! Through much of it, Big Sean sits in a throne in front of a white backdrop covered in graffiti in what can only be an intentional reference to the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and Will Smith's early rap career, which, in addition to being ridiculous, is probably the only time any music video has been so bad that it actually makes listening to Will Smith rap a more preferable alternative. It's sort of like that rule in movies, where you never reference a better movie in your crappy one, and in this case, the better thing is Will Smith rapping!
Once again, to only discuss the chorus is to tackle only the tip of the iceberg, and indeed this song is the iceberg that crashed the Titanic, on 9/11, during the Holocaust. I was at first hesitant to do this, but I think the only way to fully and adequately explain my umbrage is to go lyric-by-lyric and line-and-line, showing you in detail, in no uncertain terms, why as human beings we should all now be ashamed of ourselves for playing a part in producing this and letting it happen.
"Wobble-dy wobble-dy wa wobble wobble."
Okay, admittedly, not a terrible start. The onomatopoeia is technically accurate as many asses, particularly those of a type praised by rappers in the past, do in fact wobble, so at least we're still on point, even if said point is completely without merit.
"'I'm st-stacking my paper, my wallet look like a bible."
Here's where I start to get immediately skeptical of anything this guy is saying. With this comparison of his wallet to a bible, note how he very conveniently neglects to specify which kind of bible he's using. Yeah, maybe it would be impressive if he's talking about one of those giant monastery bibles, but once a wallet gets that big, it would seem to defeat the purpose of having one, and would only indicate that he probably doesn't know how banks and or debit card works. Not exactly something to brag about. And if that's not what he's talking about, than which kind is it? I'd guess that even my wallet, with no money inside it, is probably thicker than your average pocket bible, just by virtue of the leather, but you don't see me acting like I'm some big shot. It all seems deceptively vague to me.
"I got girlies half naked, that shit look like the grotto/ How your waist anorexic and then your ass is colossal?"
Now the problem with this part is hard to convey just from a reading of the lyrics, as it's really the lazy cadence that Big Sean employs that casts doubt upon this claim. It all just sounds like a teenage virgin bragging about sex he's never had with girls he wouldn't know what to do with. "Girlies half naked" is probably the furthest extent to which he can actually conceive of a woman as a sexual being considering his evident lack of experience, which is only further suggested by his reference to "the grotto," as if he found an old copy of Playboy magazine and has constructed an elaborate fantasy about what being a real man is like. In this vein, his description of his perfect woman, with an anorexic waist and a colossal ass, sounds almost like the "girlfriend living in Canada," who so totally exists man, seriously.
"Drop that ass, make it boomerang/ Take my belt off, bitch I'm Pootie Tang/ Tippy tow tippy tay, you gonna get a tip today/ Fuck that, you gonna get some dick today"
I'm just going to assume that the Boomerang is a new dance craze from Australia that has taken the country by storm in recent months, and I just missed it somehow, but Pootie Tang? Really? Don't get me wrong, I actually like this movie, and it's another one of those underrated ones that any fan of writer Louis C.K. should check out if they never gave it a chance the first time, But come on. You might as well make an Austin Powers reference. And for the record, anyone who saw Pootie Tang knows that he was far too honorable a man to objectify women as Big Sean does here. Yes, the sheer power of Pootie's awesome would often cause the women around him to objectify themselves, but he never personally indulged in it. If you're going to take up his mantle, I think you should at least live by his example. And I know this is a common trope in rap music today, but at this point, he's given no indication thus far that his penis is sufficient to be worth more than a monetary tip. I'm not saying it isn't, but you have to prove that. You can't just assert it without evidence.
I walk in with my crew and I'm breaking they necks/ I'm looking all good, I'm making her wet/ They pay me respect, they pay me in checks/ And if she look good, she pay me in sex."
Again, his laconic, almost dismissive delivery seems to suggest that for all his bluster, he doesn't even believe what he's saying here. I know it doesn't sound all that different from any other rap song, filled as it is with the same sort of empty machismo you might find on a thousand identical rap albums, but there's just something about the shallow and hollow way in which this particular declaration is presented that makes it even more excruciating. There's no wit or wordplay involved. He just states bluntly a list of things that he says makes him awesome with a lack of subtlety that would make Krispy Kreme sound like Voltaire. There's no attempt to be clever at all, almost as if he's deliberately removing any sense of style so as to deconstruct and parody the genre. If I thought for a moment that it was intentional I might even herald it as genius, but there's no way that's possible. Also, what ho pays their pimp in checks? Once again, this guy doesn't understand the modernization of commerce nor apparently the pimp/ho dynamic.
"Bounce that ass (ass), it's the roundest/ You the best bitch, you deserve a crown bitch right on that."
His immature understanding of female sexuality and the male libido is evident again here. It's the roundest? That's the standard we're working from? It's like he tried to come up with all the things that could possibly be positives about a woman's ass, not being able to summon any direct knowledge of the subject, having never actually touched or been near one personally, and he just picked the first dimension he could think of. It's starting to sound like Steve Carell in that scene from The 40 Year Old Virgin when he tries to fake a story about a sexual encounter, revealing he's never actually had one. It's like that, only in (shitty) song form. Also, the lyrics I found online have the last line as "Right on that," but I always hear it as "Write on that." I point it out because this line comes right before another repeat of the chorus, so it sounds a lot like he's saying "Write on that ass, ass, ass, etc," which fits a lot better with the rest of the song, and its main theme of Big Sean not knowing anything about what to do with a woman's ass. The utter gall to write a song devoted to it would be commendable if I didn't want to stab out my ear drums.
"Go stupid, go stupid, go stupid"
Apparently this is the song's mantra, and I have no further comment other than to say that it is the most self-aware portion of the proceedings. Oh, and it leads in to the Nicki Minaj part next, which makes me smile for reasons that I can only guess are not intentional.
"Ass so fat, all these bitches' pussies is throbbin'/ Bad bitches, I'm your leader, Phantom by the meter/ Somebody point me to the best ass-eater."
First off, no, sorry, not buying it. Bad bitches, good bitches, whatever, I refuse to believe that there is any class of bitch or any women for that matter to which Nicki Minaj is any sort of authority figure. But going back a bit, so wait, is her ass turning all women into lesbians? How did we go from the worst of chauvinistic female objectification to the worst of faux hyper-sexualized female empowerment in the span of fifteen more "asses" and a demand to "go stupid"? Okay, maybe I answered my own question with that one. I have to assume that "Phantom by the meter" is a metaphor that I don't understand, otherwise I would have to think that Minaj is saying that she's some sort of ghost that haunts parking meters, gas meters, or some other type of measurement devices, which would take this song into a whole different direction. And wait, we're eating asses now? I thought we were fucking asses or just appreciating them for their roundness. Make up your mind, song! And for some reason in the video she's wearing a British flag design for both her shirt and short shorts. Is Nicki Minaj British? Does Britain have something to do with asses? Someone help me before I actually do stroke out!
"I Tell 'im "Pussy clean!" I tell them "Pussy squeaky!"/ Niggas give me brain 'cause all of them niggas geeky."
What? Now we're talking about pussies? I thought the whole point was asses. Was that not why the fifteen "asses" were there in the first place? Still, being somewhat geeky myself, I can appreciate what appears to be Miss Minaj's preference for having sex with men of a more intelligent persuasion. At least I assume that's what this line means. I think I've heard somewhere that "brain" is a euphemism for penis, perhaps both as a reference to it being the true male brain, as well as due to both the penis head and testicles each having a physical resemblance to a miniature brain, though this could just be the product of an imagination driven insane by trying to create an internal logic for this very song. The only caveat I would have, apart from the fact that she genuinely sort of scares me a little bit, is that if you have to tell men that your vagina is squeaky clean, it must only be because they have some reason to believe that it is not or historically hasn't been. I do not know enough about Miss Minaj to know what this reason might be, but it does make me somewhat hesitant to inform her of my openness to have geeky sex.
"If he got a mandingo, then I buy him a dashiki/ And bust this pussy open in the islands of Waikikiiiiii…"
A mandingo, for those who are unaware, is a reference to a very large penis, which is taken from a porn star of the same name. I don't know if a dashiki is the appropriate reward for having a mandingo, or if it is a clothing option that accentuates the mandingo, but at the very least, I think we've established, at least in Big Sean's case, that busting open one's pussy, even in exotic locales, is not the ultimate goal here. Haven't you been listening, Nicki? The man's all about asses. I'm sure you have a very nice vagina and you should be very proud of it, but it seems like Sean was nice enough to invite you onto his song to join in the conversation about the female posterior, and all you want to talk about it your own thing. Oh, and the Waikikiiiiii part is extended for like five seconds for some reason. I'm not talking like a Whitney Houston-style epic holding of a note; this is just a long, monotone sound like something out of a Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!. In the video, the line is punctuated by the two pantomiming anal sex as Big Sean gives an exaggerated shrug and a smirk, as if to say, "Yeah, this is terrible and we're gonna make millions of dollars that we know we don't deserve, but who cares?"
"Kiss my ass and my anus, 'cause it's 'Finally Famous.'"
Okay, there are like three things wrong with this part. First off, "Kiss my ass and my anus?" Must we do both? Isn't one sufficient? Also, she doesn't say "cause they're finally famous," but rather "cause it's finally famous." This woman clearly doesn't know that the ass and the anus are two separate things. Granted, the term "ass" can be used to describe the entire operation, anus included, but generally is meant to refer to the exterior portion, analogous to the ear, the anus being its ear canal. These are basic biological facts that are being missed here. And finally, while you could possibly make the argument that as a well known public figure considered by many to be physically attractive, that in fact her ass could technically be considered famous in and of itself, I would take issue with the proposition that her anus has somehow also achieved an equal level of fame.
"And it's finally soft, yeah, it's finally solved!/ I don't know, man, guess them ass shots were off!/ Bitches ain't poppin', Google, my ass./ Only time you on the net is when you Google my ass"
From what research I was willing to do for this article before passing out from the pain, I gather that this is largely a reference to rumors that once circulated about Miss Minaj's ass containing implants. I do not believe these for a second, not because I give the woman any benefit of the doubt, but rather because if I let myself believe that such a thing is a thing, I will stab someone. I don't know what "bitches aint poppin'" means so I'll ignore it for now, but the next thing is particularly annoying. Even if, for the sake of argument, I did spend an inordinate amount of time Googling "Nicki Minaj's ass," to be so presumptuous as to suggest that the only thing I do online is Google her ass is just absurd. The Internet is far too important to my life to make this claim credible. My job is done mostly through an online platform, so right there that's eight hours a day I spend on the Internet, not Googling "Nicki Minaj's ass." Even if you just consider the time I spend online specifically for masturbation purposes, there are so many other more effective avenues to find masturbatory material; limiting myself to photos of one ass would just be ridiculously inefficient. If I cared enough about Minaj's ass specifically to Google it at all, I imagine it would take up, at most, 5% of my Internet usage doing so.
"Y-y-you fuckin' little whores, fu-fuckin' up my decors./ Couldn't get Michael Kors if you was fuckin' Michael Kors./ B-B-Big Sean, b-boy, how big is you? Gimme all yo' money and gimme all yo' residuals./ Then slap it on my ass, ass, ass…"
I think decors refers to interior decorating. I'm probably wrong on that, but fuck it, I don't care anymore. I don't know who is breaking into Nicki Minaj's house and destroying her property, but I kind of think that's more an area for the police than a song that is, once again, supposed to be about the much more important topic of asses. I had to actually Google who Michael Kors was, which only serves yet again to disprove Nicki's silly ass-Googling claim. And yet again, we have a complete lack of understanding about basic finances. Residuals are not typically doled out in a form that is conducive to slapping them on one's ass, being relatively small payments delivered repeatedly over many years, and even if they were, why would you? Is this why it was so important for me to know how fat Big Sean's wallet was? If I knew that all that bible-sized cash was just going to be slapped on Nicki Minaj's ass, I would be even less impressed than I already was. Neither of these people seem to understand the sexual or biological uses for asses, or the actual real world benefits of the currency they are so proud of having. Asses seem to be little more than an abstract concept to them, and money is used as a cold compress for said asses!
The rest of the song is less egregious, just a litany of the various ethnicities and body types whose asses Big Sean would like to see moving rhythmically to MC Hammer music, and while you can give him some credit for being all inclusive in his desires for ass, he never goes any further or delves any deeper into what it truly means to be a lover of asses. Maybe it was too much to hope for some poetic sense of appreciation for the female backside, but at least some justification for his argument in favor of them would have been nice. Also, through the whole video he keeps holding up a chain, the significance of which is apparently supposed to impress me, but since I don't understand what it signifies, it does not have what I assume to be the desired effect.
As of this writing, this video has 43,245,521 hits. Granted, like four of those were mine, first watching it, then re-watching it to confirm that I wasn't just having some dying nightmare like An Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge, and then watching it again to embed on Facebook to alert others, and finally one last time to prepare for this column. But still, come on people. As it turns out, "Finally Famous" is actually a reference to the album from which this song was shat out, implying that at least some of you were waiting for this to happen. A little warning would have been nice.
I used to think that rap music was basically a wash in terms of quality, that for all the crap, there was still some decent, socially conscious, or at least innovative stuff to balance it out. For every Lil Wayne there was a Busta Rhymes, for every D12, a Furious Five. Now, with this song, that assumption is officially dead. The balance is forever skewed and the Dark Side has won. Shao Khan's forces have beaten the champions of Earth in Mortal Kombat, and the armies of Outworld will soon be upon us. Or you know, whatever the rap music equivalent of that is. At this point, anyone who has ever made a positive argument in favor of rap owes me a personal apology right now. I'm not kidding. This song proves what I have long suspected, that this was not a genre of music but rather a massive, incredibly elaborate practical joke on me, culminating in this, the most ridiculous of punch lines. I can only imagine back in the day, when Public Enemy was in the studio making music that mattered about important social issues, how amused they must have been thinking about how, thanks to them, we would never expect that all of this was just one huge jape on some guy in Ohio in 2012. Kudos for your commitment to the bit, every rapper in history, but please, I get it. You can officially stop now.
Do you remember the first time someone ever told you about the Star Wars Christmas Special, or those Ewok TV movies, or the Droids cartoon? Wow, come to think of it, Lucas has put the Star Wars name on a bunch of terrible shit. Did he have a hand in the Turkish one? You know what, never mind, not the point. The point is, something was being explained to you that no doubt sounded so strange and unworkable as to be almost unbelievable. And maybe you didn't believe it, that is until you saw if for yourself, and you realized that not only was this thing real, but it was just as weird and off putting as it had been described to you, if not more so. And beyond the thing itself, the fact that it was made, and that people thought it was a good idea long enough to make it, seems simply inconceivable.
It's the moment you find out that there are not one but two straight-to-video animated musical films based on the story of the Titanic, one featuring a rapping dog and the other magic dolphin tears respectively. It is the sort of realization that is to your internal sense of logic and reason what opening the Ark of the Covenant is to a Nazi's face. These are the moments this article series is designed to celebrate - the kind of discoveries that make your mind explode into your own ass, where you must simply bow to the absurd and acknowledge, whether you want to or not, that this... is a thing... that exists!
Okay, I promise I'm going to stop talking about Critters at some point, but I have to mention it in order to provide context for this thing. Okay, maybe I don't have to, but fuck you, it's my column. Anyway, when I was writing my Critters Retrospective, I noted that Critters 2 is one of the only horror films I knew of that took place during the holiday of Easter and used it as a central theme, which is sort of strange considering the prevalence of holiday horror movies. When I did a little research online to see if there were any other examples, I expected to find at least a few schlocky straight-to-video killer Easter Bunny movies, but instead, I only found one movie consistently mentioned. It was a little film starring Rory Calhoun and Janet Leigh called Night of the Lepus.
I think I vaguely recall hearing the title of this movie at some point before, probably in relation to DeForest Kelly because I'm such a big Star Trek fan, but because my two semesters of college Latin mostly consisted of our class watching the BBC miniseries I, Claudius while our teacher checked email, I never put it together that lepus is the Latin word for rabbit. Yes, if you haven't guessed it already, this is a horror movie about Giant Killer Bunny Rabbits. Now you're probably thinking to yourself, "That's not so strange. The 90's was a veritable cornucopia of absurd killer something movies, from leprechauns to evil snowmen. Hey, stop reading my thoughts!" Okay, fine, but that was the 90's. This movie was made in the freaking 70's! Remember, this was the era of the Nixon/Ford/Carter troika of sadness where everything was taken seriously and ironic meta self-awareness was only for jive suckas. And yet somehow, a movie about rabbits turned into giant monsters via experimental hormone therapy got made.
And you want to know the weird thing about it? It actually kind of works. If you can at least temporarily remove from your mind all of your preconceptions about rabbits as cute and cuddly and imagine what it would be like if this species, existing only to eat and multiply, were to grow to the size of wolves, you can't deny that the possibility is legitimately terrifying. The movie is often criticized on this point, that the fatal flaw that means it could not possibly be good is that rabbits just aren't scary. I would submit that these critics apparently missed out on the unmitigated horror that was Hop, but I digress. The director, William Claxton, and much of the cast is mostly known for their work in Westerns, and the sensibility definitely shows early on in the overall tone of the film's set up, rough cowboy-esque characters, and some genuinely beautiful shots of the desert. If anything, this movie does a lot to transform the image of this much maligned animal into something of a bad ass wild creature. After a mock news broadcast detailing the threat of introducing certain breeds of rabbits into uncommon ecosystems, the film proper opens with Rory Calhoun riding his horse, only to trip on a rabbit hole and have to do the manliest thing possible - shoot his crippled horse in the face, and it only gets more manly from there, which in a movie about bunnies is really saying something.
DeForest Kelly shows up as a college professor out to help Calhoun rid his ranch of the at first tiny rabbit infestation, and the first thing you might notice if all you've ever seen him in is Star Trek is what can only be described as possibly the sexiest mustache ever recorded in the history of film or mustaches (though admittedly, my two semesters of college Mustache History mostly consisted of our class watching Wilfred Brimley in Cocoon while our teacher combed his mustache, so my knowledge on the matter is a bit lacking). It's so sexy, I almost considered adding Kelly to my list of celebrities I'd go gay for, right after character actor and occasional gargoyle Keith David. Just as an aside, I'm curious; how long is your gay celebrity sex list allowed to be before you go from a straight guy, to just a very selective gay guy who only fucks famous dudes? I think one is completely legitimate but once you start adding more than that, it's kind of pushing it, no pun about Keith David fucking me intended. Well, maybe since Kelly is dead and barring time travel or necrophilia I don't really have a chance, I think it's okay. The whole cast shines simply for treating the material seriously and not phoning in their performances or giving in to the campiness of the premise, except perhaps for Stuart Whitman, who makes for something of a wimpy hero, especially next to Calhoun's kick ass Han Solo turn.
The effects are another area that is often criticized but in a way that makes me think a lot of people have written reviews about this movie without actually seeing it, just jumping on board a snarky bandwagon. Granted they're not the greatest I've ever seen, even for a 70's movie, but they're not nearly as bad as people say, and they are generally effective at establishing the idea being presented. It's mostly done with real rabbits and miniature sets, and I actually think this was a good move, especially given the alternative. The few shots where they do use people in suits are the only ones that border on laughable, but they are shot so quickly to hide the fact that it doesn't ultimately take away from those scenes. The way they show very little of the rabbits once they start attacking at first is actually done very well and builds suspense leading up to the final reveal as they begin to stampede across the countryside. At first, the creatures themselves are barely seen, only their aftermath, chewed up bodies of truckers and later whole families, until the titular night when they are unleashed in their full glory. Everywhere they go they are accompanied by an odd repetitive sound that I would hesitate to call a musical sting, just an eerie bubbling, percolating noise that again is used very well, to the point that I might even rank it up there with the repeated notes associated with Jaws or Michael Myers. There's also a scene where Rory Calhoun's character discovers the rabbits holed up in a general store, having killed and eaten the proprietor, and he just sees them sitting there, crowding every available space. Bunnies or no, anybody in that situation would almost immediately shit themselves, which now that I think about it would most likely seal their fate as the pack of giant bunnies would smell him and attack, only making the whole scenario that much more terrifying.
If the movie has one major flaw, it's that perhaps the world created by this film and the characters within it treat the situation almost too seriously. As much as I applaud the film for its deliberate attempt to stay away from the obvious potential for cheesy parody, I find it strange that no one in this town ever seems to question the plausibility of this giant rabbit outbreak. As soon as it happens, nobody points out how ridiculous the whole thing is, or how insane their predicament is compared to the normal hazards of rural life. They just jump right into problem solving mode. What? There's killer bunnies coming? Good, no more information needed, what's the plan to stop this killer bunny menace and move on with our lives? There's even a scene where the sheriff goes to a drive-in to help evacuate the town and doesn't even bother coming up with a more reasonable explanation for why they all should leave. He literally comes right out and says there are killer bunnies on the loose, and the people just go with him without anyone getting out of their cars or being skeptical in anyway. I would guess that it is probably more of the Western sensibility coming through, as you never see anyone in those movies questioning a threat to their way of life; they always just circle the wagons instinctively. I don't know if I would have wanted more people to point out the silly nature of it all, and I am inclined to think that part of the reason I enjoyed the movie as much as I did is because the movie succeeds in not descending into self aware camp, but just in terms of the narrative, it is extremely weird. This serious tone is even stranger in light of the fact that apparently the book the film was based on, The Year of the Angry Rabbit by Russell Braddon, was actually written as a satire (though to be fair it's also Australian, and pretty much everything associated with that country is satirical).
Actually, I think the biggest problem surrounding the movie is its release date. The movie came out in 1972, five years too early to be a prequel or sequel to the classic 1977 film Kingdom of the Spiders. The two movies share similar themes of man against nature and our environment becoming the enemy, and all through the movie, the only thing I could think of was how much better it would be if Whitman's character had been replaced by Shatner's action veterinarian Rack Hanson. It could have been a Die Hard 2-esque, "How's the same kind of thing happen to the same guy twice" moment, and could have set up a series of Shatner vs. nature movies where he conquers the wilds of our own planet as he has conquered space (perhaps sexually, to continue the Star Trek theme). Plus, it would have reunited Shatner and Kelly, perhaps as Kirk and Bones, sent to a parallel reality by the Guardian of Forever with their memories erased so that they could protect the Earth from the menace of itself! Then they'd team up and fight nature related crime with a talking monkey sidekick named Sulu, whom Shatner then conquers sexually. Speaking of Kingdom of the Spiders, another thing Lepus lacks that would have made the film so much better is a more strident, apocalyptic ending. Instead, the day is saved and we just get a shot of the now normal sized rabbits returning to the area. It doesn't ruin the film but it is a major missed opportunity. Also, did you know that tarantulas are cannibals and their fur is used to make itching powder? Man, the Kingdom of the Spiders Wikipedia entry is a wealth of knowledge.
Overall, if you've never heard of this movie before now, or did and dismissed it out of hand because you thought the concept was too silly, I would suggest that it at least merits another look. I'm not the kind of movie viewer that likes bad movies just because they're bad and can be made fun of, but if that's your thing, maybe you can get some jokes out of it too, even if you can't become invested in the movie and accept the premise long enough to appreciate it without irony. That's the beauty of this movie; it works on both levels. If you're like me and can suspend your disbelief as far as Night of the Lepus asks you too, its a fun and sometimes tense experience, and if you're one of those people with no soul who lost their sense of child-like wonder long ago and can only watch movies cynically, there's room on the Lepus bus for you too. It's good clean fun for the whole family. unless of course your family is the one in the movie who was eaten by rabbits, in which case re-living the experience probably would not be that much fun for you, and I would not recommend this film. Otherwise, go see it, or rent it, or buy it, or whatever you do to get movies nowadays.
Thanks for reading and I'll be back with one of these again soon, probably with something puppet related. Bye now.
