Judge David Johnson went Sasquatch-hunting last weekend, but only bagged a Chupacabra.
New territory…fresh prey!
Not fair. I was braced to absorb a severe neural beatdown. "Assault of the Sasquatch?!" Something like that is just clamoring to be viewed and ripped a new one in an ensuing review. After all, the history of low budget killer Bigfoot movies isn't sterling, and by "isn't sterling" I mean "reeks of laboratory animal waste."
But, lo, director Andrew Gernhard has thrown a change-up and delivered a killer Bigfoot movie that is not only not terrible, but sort of fun, making my job a bit tougher (it's a lot easier to write a-hole movie reviews). Instead of tearing into this flick like a butter-knife through a peach, I have to use some effort to crack its coconut-like husk. That's why I've got this job, though; for my writing acumen and vocabulary, where I can use words like "onomatopoeia" and "bailiwick" to pad my word count and bolster my fragile ego.
Assault of the Sasquatch sports a straightforward story: a greasy, woods scouring, bear poacher scores himself the prize of prizes, when he bags a Sasquatch. (Is a Sasquatch gallbladder more potent an aphrodisiac than that of a bear?). On his way back to civilization, he's pulled over by the cops and kept in lock-up, giving the captured monster the opportunity to break free and haul his hirsute rear end around the metropolitan area. There he embarks on a terrifying killing spree, with a stopover for some breaking and entering and pretty girl ogling.
Eventually, the Sasquatch turns its attention back to his original captors and stages a full-on…you guessed it…assault of the police station, looking to transform our heroes (a girl, a guy, the girl's dad, andsome other people I can't recall) into scrumptious finger foods. Sadly, the Sasquatch's rotten, musky breath will be the last thing they experience before the arrival of a violent, sinewy death.
While I'm tempted to needle Assault of the Sasquatch for its blatant ridiculousness, I'm stopped dead in my tracks by this simple fact: it's supposed to be ridiculous. This is a tongue-in-cheek affair, not designed to elicit genuine thrills but built as a campy, B-movie schlockfest. And I was surprised by its effectiveness.
Is it the next Evil Dead II? Nah. Too many jokes flop and the characters are either forgettable or annoying, but the atmosphere is light, the playful gore is plentiful, and the Sasquatch man-in-suit costuming (some poor schmuck was decked out in all manner of suspenders, shoe lifts, and assorted furry regalia) is refreshingly non-CGI.
You can do worse with Bigfoot movies.
A lot worse.
The DVD: an okay 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen, 5.1 surround, commentary, bloopers, a music video, and a behind-the-scenes featurette.
The New England foliage is beautiful, the Patriots beat the Ravens, and the Knicks have a promising young Russian center, so I'm in a decent mood—Not Guilty.
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Scales of Justice
Studio: MVD Visual
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