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Thursday, February 09, 2006

Another great way to waste an hour of your life . . .

I rented and actually watched perhaps the worst movie I have ever seen.

"From the director of Boogeyman."

Sure. That should've given it away. I know.

But I rented it anyway, and took it home, and put it off until last. And after 15 minutes, when I stopped repeating, "It has to get better than this,"I watched another hour of it out of sheer stubborn determination.

I paid $3.95 to take this movie home. I can't believe the video store had the balls to put it on the shelf and pass it off as entertainment.

The movie was Green River Killer. I thought it would be a fictionalized film version of the man and his gruesome deeds. I also thought that -- while it obviously wouldn't be on level with the Texas Chainsaw Massacre -- it would be a decent horror film.

I was wrong on the second assumption. Cabin Fever could have been nominated for an Oscar next to this.

It actually took me 30 minutes before I realized this waste of perfectly good unexposed film could be nothing like the actual Green River Killer's story.

The movie had a steady and predictable beat to it: Freak goes to small bar about the size of a trailer. Freak dances with a whore. Freak leaves with the whore. Freak and whore have sex. Freak kills whore.

There was absolutely nothing to the movie other than that over and over and over again.

And you might assume that after the 4th, 5th, or 6th time you watched this guy walk out the door with another soon to be dead prostitute, you'd think twice before cheering him on and patting his back.

Especially if you were the fat blonde woman taking the money. Sure, it would mean one less trick turned . . . but how bad does business have to get before you are willing to consider your prostitutes as disposable commodities?

It was the 1980's. True, but still . . .

It looked like the entire film was shot with a JVC camcorder bought on sale at Sears. The editing must have been done by hooking two vcr's up together.

And the acting? This movie is the only place you can find a reunion of the entire cast from Bickleton, Washington Community Theatre's production of Death of a Salesman. (At least I hope it is the only place.)

The prostitutes must've all been the result of the director finally living up to all of those promises of, "Hey, I'm going to be a big Hollywood director. If you'll sleep with me I'll put you in a movie."

Though I am sure, at the end of the night, some of them still made him leave the money on the dresser.

What I think I am trying to say is:

This movie was bad. Don't watch it.


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