Vortigern99
Sorcerer Supreme
Some Legends Don't Die. They KILL.
By the thread title, this seemed the right place to post my review of what is quite possibly the dumbest movie ever made. Yes, that's right ladies and gentlemen, I just watched Sasquatch Hunters (2004).
This direct-to-DVD masterpiece of absurdity is brought to you by the same super-talented production company that has gifted the world with the likes of Frankenfish, Boa vs. Python, and Asylum of the Damned -- all genius-level tour de forces in their own right, I have no doubt, though tragically I have yet to be graced with their especial brand of wonderment.
Also tragically, I spent $10 at my local HEB grocery store on Sasquatch Hunters, whose front cover depicts in extreme close-up a snarling man-beast, motion-blurred as he leaps out toward the viewer, madness glinting in his feral eye, teeth smudged with what can only be human blood, and accompanied by the ingenious, if mind-boggling, motto: "THE FEAR IS PRIMEVAL. THE AGONY IS REAL." On the back cover are two pictures of people with shotguns, one picture of a snarling man-beast, and one drawing of a confused-looking, if mildly angry, man-beast. All are ensconced in a pleasant wooded tableaux.
"How could the producers possibly go wrong?" I wondered to myself as the checker rang up my purchase, along with a large bottle of wine which I suspected might become useful as the evening progressed. My suspicions were confirmed, even as my question was answered, by the opening sequence in the movie.
In this five-minute "teaser", as such pre-credit sequences are commonly known, three unlikable rednecks are depicted in the deep woods of some unidentified American state, making crude jokes, firing indiscriminately into the forest, making crude jokes, and generally giving the viewer no reason to like them or to want them to remain alive past the opening credits. Semi-thankfully, we get to see one of them, the least likable of the trio if such a feat is possible, getting torn to shreds by a snarling man-beast rendered in unconvincing computer-generated imagery. Cue CREDITS, accompanied by a stirring, all-synth score. If you haven't finished your first glass of wine by now, you haven't been paying attention.
Next, in ACT ONE, we are treated to an introduction of a wonderful cast of characters whose on-screen presences exude charisma, intelligence, a certain savoir faire and... awww, who the he// am I kidding? They're all a buncha idiots: A pair of middle-aged park rangers (one of them a square-jawed Dudley Do-right), a grandfatherly paleontologist, a Jane Goodall-ish (she wishes) anthropologista, a blond pack-mule with a huge rack, and a junior trio of hormone-addled park rangers, one of whom is a girl. Is this movie awesome, or what?
See, the park rangers are accompanying the scientists on a 4-day hike into the woods to seek out "bones... er, fossils!" as the chipper 19-year-old anthro chick decries. The blond rack-mule is their assistant. Slaughter fodder, anyone? Lay your bets now on who makes it to the end of the movie. You might be surprised by the outcome, but only because the writers are too dim to realize which characters are supposed to die. More on this later.
You should be well into your second glass by now.
During the hike, scored with that oddly heroic theme music, we glean insight into which junior park ranger wants to boink which other cast member. I'm not telling because no one cares. We do learn that sasquatch is using some kind of weirdo-vision to watch the blond take a camp-shower, but we cannot discern whether he (?) likes it or not. She remains clothed in a bikini the whole time, so I suspect not.
Anyway, in a leftover scene from the teaser, sasquatch throws the one remaining redneck against a tree, the man-beast alternating his incarnation between a hairy man-in-costume and the aforementioned unconvincing CGI. What's not to like? Pour your third glass and shut up.
Next up, the hikers stumble upon a sasquatch graveyard! Some of the graves are fresh, apparently, and some of them go back 200 years or more! Exciting, isn't it? Don't answer that. The bones match up with one such as the anthro chick found at the museum where the paleo-gramps works: a "gorilla" bone unearthed in these parts, oh about 100 years ago. Nevermind that both of these "scientists" would easily be able to distinguish a gorilla bone from the bipedal man-beast we've thus far seen engaged in a homicidal frenzy. "Gorilla" seems to be a euphemism for "non-human primate" here, and any mention of a possible ancestor of these bones' owners, Gigantopithecus, who died out "a million years ago", is purely incidental and 100% baloney.
Before we proceed to the fourth glass, I mean the next segment, it bears mentioning that this movie apparently takes place in an alternate reality in which Bigfoot is not a well-known North American legend. Wha--? Yes, the professional park rangers struggle to come up with the term "wendigo" when describing the myth of the man-beast; the word "sasquatch" is uttered not once in spite of the movie's title; and while "bigfoot" is said in one scene, it's used as though the square-jawed ranger is coining the term on the spot. Odd.
Okay, down to the nitty gritty. Spencer, whoever that is, disappears, and the rest of the cast spends the next seventeen hours calling his name incessantly into the woods. What's that? The movie's only 88 minutes long? Well, I'll be damned. It sure felt like seventeen hours. "Spencer!" "Spen-CER!" "Spencer?" At any rate, a buncha confusing s*** happens and the cast decides to pack up their belongings and flee back to civilization, mostly at night, while at least one horrifyingly angry sasquatch -- excuse me, "wendigo" -- hounds their trail. Some more people die, but not enough of them, because by the time the remaining characters hole up in an abandoned cabin, most of them are still alive. The writers just don't seem to get it.
Somewhere in all of that, possibly around the fifth glass of wine, the anthro chick comforts the girl park ranger (distraught over Spencer's disappearance, natch) by taking her into her tent, groping her hair and shoulders, positioning her face three inches away from the girl in an extreme close-up, and then (get this) not making out with her. WTH??? The producers are clearly setting up a scene of, shall we say, "sapphic delights" here, which woefully fail to come to fruition. How many glasses is that now? Just pour.
Later, when the non-lesbian park ranger is fleeing with the cast, she's distracted by a shadowy figure lurking in the blackness of the shrubbery-filled night. Could it be sasquatch? No -- he's wearing a shirt and appears to be pinned backwards to a tree. "Spencer?" says non-lesby ranger-girl, a hopeful smile on her face. Did I mention the figure is pinned backwards to a tree? Somehow, the girl declines to take note of this rather peculiar fact; she touches him and he flops onto her, spinning around in the process so that his BLOOD-DRENCHED FACE springs comically at the camera like an outtake from a 3-D zombie film. Spencer indeed.
Okay, back in the abandoned cabin: THE SASQUATCHES ATTACK. Speaking of zombie films, it would have behooved the producers, the writer, the editor, anyone, to have given Night of the Living Dead a passing view, just to see, you know, how claustrophobic suspense is handled in the cinematic medium. But never mind, it's all over so quickly it's hard to notice the complete absence of interest here, apart from a few unintentionally funny angles on sasquatches running across the open doorway, as shotgun blasts ring out and the utter mess the editor has made of the progression of shots robs the audience of anything resembling a satisfying movie-watching experience. Spencer is mentioned at least three more times; one more guy dies (he was the funny one, did I mention him?), and then -- pointless lap dissolve -- it's morning.
Almost done now. Next day, the survivors -- the anthro chick, the paleo-gramps, the square-jaw and the other middle-aged park ranger, who frankly serves no purpose here -- flee through the last leg of the woods, pursued by -- get this! -- a furry army of sasquatches! Some of them are people-in-costumes, and some of them are the dumbest-looking CGI animated characters you've ever seen in your life. One of these captures the anthro chick, and square-jaw -- with whom anthro has had a four-second bonding moment of questionable credibility in a previous scene -- goes after her like she's the Princess Bride and he Wesley the Dread Pirate Roberts. BLAM! BLAST! Take that, bigfoot! CGI gore! CGI blood! CGI sasquatches flying through the air! CGI anthro chicks flying through the air, flung by CGI sasquatches, then getting up seemingly entirely unharmed by the experience! Wow! Bang! Yawn! Snore!
Then they get in their jeep and drive away. Camera tilts up to dissolve into one final, pointless montage of forest scenery. MUSIC UP. IRIS OUT. ROLL CREDITS. WRITTEN AND DIRECTED BY GEORGE LUCAS.
By the thread title, this seemed the right place to post my review of what is quite possibly the dumbest movie ever made. Yes, that's right ladies and gentlemen, I just watched Sasquatch Hunters (2004).
This direct-to-DVD masterpiece of absurdity is brought to you by the same super-talented production company that has gifted the world with the likes of Frankenfish, Boa vs. Python, and Asylum of the Damned -- all genius-level tour de forces in their own right, I have no doubt, though tragically I have yet to be graced with their especial brand of wonderment.
Also tragically, I spent $10 at my local HEB grocery store on Sasquatch Hunters, whose front cover depicts in extreme close-up a snarling man-beast, motion-blurred as he leaps out toward the viewer, madness glinting in his feral eye, teeth smudged with what can only be human blood, and accompanied by the ingenious, if mind-boggling, motto: "THE FEAR IS PRIMEVAL. THE AGONY IS REAL." On the back cover are two pictures of people with shotguns, one picture of a snarling man-beast, and one drawing of a confused-looking, if mildly angry, man-beast. All are ensconced in a pleasant wooded tableaux.
"How could the producers possibly go wrong?" I wondered to myself as the checker rang up my purchase, along with a large bottle of wine which I suspected might become useful as the evening progressed. My suspicions were confirmed, even as my question was answered, by the opening sequence in the movie.
In this five-minute "teaser", as such pre-credit sequences are commonly known, three unlikable rednecks are depicted in the deep woods of some unidentified American state, making crude jokes, firing indiscriminately into the forest, making crude jokes, and generally giving the viewer no reason to like them or to want them to remain alive past the opening credits. Semi-thankfully, we get to see one of them, the least likable of the trio if such a feat is possible, getting torn to shreds by a snarling man-beast rendered in unconvincing computer-generated imagery. Cue CREDITS, accompanied by a stirring, all-synth score. If you haven't finished your first glass of wine by now, you haven't been paying attention.
Next, in ACT ONE, we are treated to an introduction of a wonderful cast of characters whose on-screen presences exude charisma, intelligence, a certain savoir faire and... awww, who the he// am I kidding? They're all a buncha idiots: A pair of middle-aged park rangers (one of them a square-jawed Dudley Do-right), a grandfatherly paleontologist, a Jane Goodall-ish (she wishes) anthropologista, a blond pack-mule with a huge rack, and a junior trio of hormone-addled park rangers, one of whom is a girl. Is this movie awesome, or what?
See, the park rangers are accompanying the scientists on a 4-day hike into the woods to seek out "bones... er, fossils!" as the chipper 19-year-old anthro chick decries. The blond rack-mule is their assistant. Slaughter fodder, anyone? Lay your bets now on who makes it to the end of the movie. You might be surprised by the outcome, but only because the writers are too dim to realize which characters are supposed to die. More on this later.
You should be well into your second glass by now.
During the hike, scored with that oddly heroic theme music, we glean insight into which junior park ranger wants to boink which other cast member. I'm not telling because no one cares. We do learn that sasquatch is using some kind of weirdo-vision to watch the blond take a camp-shower, but we cannot discern whether he (?) likes it or not. She remains clothed in a bikini the whole time, so I suspect not.
Anyway, in a leftover scene from the teaser, sasquatch throws the one remaining redneck against a tree, the man-beast alternating his incarnation between a hairy man-in-costume and the aforementioned unconvincing CGI. What's not to like? Pour your third glass and shut up.
Next up, the hikers stumble upon a sasquatch graveyard! Some of the graves are fresh, apparently, and some of them go back 200 years or more! Exciting, isn't it? Don't answer that. The bones match up with one such as the anthro chick found at the museum where the paleo-gramps works: a "gorilla" bone unearthed in these parts, oh about 100 years ago. Nevermind that both of these "scientists" would easily be able to distinguish a gorilla bone from the bipedal man-beast we've thus far seen engaged in a homicidal frenzy. "Gorilla" seems to be a euphemism for "non-human primate" here, and any mention of a possible ancestor of these bones' owners, Gigantopithecus, who died out "a million years ago", is purely incidental and 100% baloney.
Before we proceed to the fourth glass, I mean the next segment, it bears mentioning that this movie apparently takes place in an alternate reality in which Bigfoot is not a well-known North American legend. Wha--? Yes, the professional park rangers struggle to come up with the term "wendigo" when describing the myth of the man-beast; the word "sasquatch" is uttered not once in spite of the movie's title; and while "bigfoot" is said in one scene, it's used as though the square-jawed ranger is coining the term on the spot. Odd.
Okay, down to the nitty gritty. Spencer, whoever that is, disappears, and the rest of the cast spends the next seventeen hours calling his name incessantly into the woods. What's that? The movie's only 88 minutes long? Well, I'll be damned. It sure felt like seventeen hours. "Spencer!" "Spen-CER!" "Spencer?" At any rate, a buncha confusing s*** happens and the cast decides to pack up their belongings and flee back to civilization, mostly at night, while at least one horrifyingly angry sasquatch -- excuse me, "wendigo" -- hounds their trail. Some more people die, but not enough of them, because by the time the remaining characters hole up in an abandoned cabin, most of them are still alive. The writers just don't seem to get it.
Somewhere in all of that, possibly around the fifth glass of wine, the anthro chick comforts the girl park ranger (distraught over Spencer's disappearance, natch) by taking her into her tent, groping her hair and shoulders, positioning her face three inches away from the girl in an extreme close-up, and then (get this) not making out with her. WTH??? The producers are clearly setting up a scene of, shall we say, "sapphic delights" here, which woefully fail to come to fruition. How many glasses is that now? Just pour.
Later, when the non-lesbian park ranger is fleeing with the cast, she's distracted by a shadowy figure lurking in the blackness of the shrubbery-filled night. Could it be sasquatch? No -- he's wearing a shirt and appears to be pinned backwards to a tree. "Spencer?" says non-lesby ranger-girl, a hopeful smile on her face. Did I mention the figure is pinned backwards to a tree? Somehow, the girl declines to take note of this rather peculiar fact; she touches him and he flops onto her, spinning around in the process so that his BLOOD-DRENCHED FACE springs comically at the camera like an outtake from a 3-D zombie film. Spencer indeed.
Okay, back in the abandoned cabin: THE SASQUATCHES ATTACK. Speaking of zombie films, it would have behooved the producers, the writer, the editor, anyone, to have given Night of the Living Dead a passing view, just to see, you know, how claustrophobic suspense is handled in the cinematic medium. But never mind, it's all over so quickly it's hard to notice the complete absence of interest here, apart from a few unintentionally funny angles on sasquatches running across the open doorway, as shotgun blasts ring out and the utter mess the editor has made of the progression of shots robs the audience of anything resembling a satisfying movie-watching experience. Spencer is mentioned at least three more times; one more guy dies (he was the funny one, did I mention him?), and then -- pointless lap dissolve -- it's morning.
Almost done now. Next day, the survivors -- the anthro chick, the paleo-gramps, the square-jaw and the other middle-aged park ranger, who frankly serves no purpose here -- flee through the last leg of the woods, pursued by -- get this! -- a furry army of sasquatches! Some of them are people-in-costumes, and some of them are the dumbest-looking CGI animated characters you've ever seen in your life. One of these captures the anthro chick, and square-jaw -- with whom anthro has had a four-second bonding moment of questionable credibility in a previous scene -- goes after her like she's the Princess Bride and he Wesley the Dread Pirate Roberts. BLAM! BLAST! Take that, bigfoot! CGI gore! CGI blood! CGI sasquatches flying through the air! CGI anthro chicks flying through the air, flung by CGI sasquatches, then getting up seemingly entirely unharmed by the experience! Wow! Bang! Yawn! Snore!
Then they get in their jeep and drive away. Camera tilts up to dissolve into one final, pointless montage of forest scenery. MUSIC UP. IRIS OUT. ROLL CREDITS. WRITTEN AND DIRECTED BY GEORGE LUCAS.
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