- Category: Movies
- Created: Thursday, 02 August 2007 00:00
- Written by Ryan Speck
Mary Woronov must have hit on hard times to be in this schlock. I mean, Night Of The Comets was a relatively decent movie and odd satire, and she deserves credit for her role in that. And she was in several other cult classics, like Death Race 2000, but none of those films diminished her like this piece of shit.
Playing a villainous nun, Woronov doesn't figure as prominently in the action as some, the principals in this softcore tardfest.
Giving a credit to and claiming "inspiration" from H.P. Lovecraft, this film pisses all over his memory with a tale of disappearing girls leading back to a mysterious halfway house for wayward women. A woman with a missing sister consults with the police, who treat her like an idiot and refuse to do anything about it, just like police do in real life. A more receptive police detective agrees to help her on the sly, after boning her, in what I assume is supposed to be a comedic scene.
The woman goes undercover in the suspicious Catholic halfway house as a druggie hooker, trying to clean herself up, and is immediately initiated in the system of abuse, gangs, and tight control by the sexually sadistic priest that runs the house and his nun cohort. The aforementioned nun is running a cult out of the house, intent on feeding the flesh of young runaways and whores to some Elder God wannabe that looks like it was made out of rubber and paper mache. The nun spins tales of runaway women to the priest, who spanks girls in retribution, while she feeds their naked and writing bodies to the oversized Cthulhu puppet. In the interim, there is lesbian sex and vaginal rape with a greased-up Virgin Mary icon. The woman reports secretly back to the detective, people die, and, in the end, the forces of good kind of win.
If this sounds like a wonderous laugh-fest to you, let me tell you it is not. Though somewhat humorous at times, the dialogue is mostly pointless, the small-minded idea is dragged out far too long, and the very weak pretense for the whole ordeal is strained past its breaking point.
When they finally bring up the Necronomicon in this lark, as a viewer you are forced to groan with an intensity that seperates your spirit from your body, at which point you're carried by the out-of-body experience to a poverty-stricken tenement to witness a child being beaten to death by his own uncaring father, all just to have something better to watch than this movie.
The upside? Cute girls and tits. That's about it. And you can easily find better and more satisfying on the internet in three minutes.
All in all, if horror movie slumlord Kenneth J. Hall makes another film, as viewers we should do the right thing and take the law into our own hands.
Think of the children.