To make a movie called ZOMBIE
CULT MASSACRE, all you
really need is one zombie, one cult and, of course, one massacre.
But Jeff Dunn, the one-man drive-in film industry of Cincinnati,
Ohio, is a true artist, and apparently a master when it comes to
getting people to work for free. He has what looks like at least
a hundred zombies, plus that many stuntmen, about 40 bizarre
religious cultists, a biker gang, bizarre demonic animation that
looks like it was grafted onto the film with a blowtorch, and so
many exploding heads and dismembered bodies being devoured by
ghouls that "massacre" doesn't begin to cover it.
Jeff has also mastered a technique I would recommend to all no-budget filmmakers. He pumps up the deathmetal soundtrack so
high that half the time you can't understand the dialogue. This
tends to make the acting brilliant.
This is the old story of the adult victim of beer-gut-dad
child abuse who is driving through the woods one day with his
loudmouth girlfriend when suddenly--you know what's coming--they
get distracted and run over a zombie. Marvin, our hero, gets out
of the car and tries to revive the zombie, but gets bitten on the
arm because they've come to a part of the rural Midwest where an
army of zombies roam the woods, trying to batter down the chain
link fence that surrounds an armed encampment of Jesus-freak
followers of a sexaholic weirdo.
Sure we've seen it before, but have we seen it with a three-
way battle to the death between trigger-happy cult members,
rifle-toting bikers on their Harleys, and hungry bug-eyed zombies
wearing bad pants? I think not.
Call it "George Romero Meets the Branch Davidians in
Sturgis, South Dakota."
Fifty-nine dead bodies. Ten breasts. Multiple bullets to the
head. Ecstatic snake-handling. Multiple arm-chewing. Chest-
ripping. Screaming-bimbo-devouring. Three orgies. Car-tire
zombie-head-smushing. Child-flogging. Caged-zombie entrail-eating. Nostril-drilling. Multiple jugular-vein therapy. Nude
female crucified demoness who electrocutes your eyes (you kinda
have to see it). Blood-drinking. Neck-chomping. Involuntary
dentistry with a Black-and-Decker power tool. Throat-slitting,
with fairy dust. Gunshot wound to the privates. Butcher knife to
the skull area. Zombie Feast. Running gunbattle between bikers,
green-eyed zombies and armed cultists. Leg ripped off. Death by
jugular-sucking. Three exploding heads. Gratuitous pants-wetting.
Finger rolls. Head rolls. Arm rolls. Leg rolls. Gratuitous hot-
tubbing. Gratuitous guitar-smashing. Kung Fu. Festering-wound Fu.
Faust Fu. Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Bob Elkins, as
the raving perverted cult leader who says "These people have
given their lives to perform the work of the Lord!"; Duffy
Hudson, as the mad doctor in the barn who gets stabbed in the
neck by his caged demonic experimental zombie; Michael Botouchis,
as the hapless tourist who gets religion while screaming "You're
all crazy!" and later tells the devil "I'm thinking about making
a few changes"; Randy Rupp, as the troubled cult sniper who picks
off zombies and mainlines steroids; and Jeff Dunn, the
writer/director, for doing things the drive-in way.
There's also some stuff that's too disgusting to mention.
Three stars. Joe Bob says check it out.
*
To check out Joe Bob's voluminous guide to all the B movies
ever made, go to www.joebob-briggs.com or email him at
JoeBob@upi.com. Snail-mail: P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221.
