Judge David Johnson is a three-quarters-of-a-pint brawer.
Don't try this at home.
Well, this is something different. Heralding its roots in Jackass (the series is from one of the executive producers), the disc case features four "little person wrestlers" crowded in a ring, hands on their shoulders, staring out with great animosity. They may be diminutive, but they are mean and they're ready to mix it up.
Half-Pint Brawlers is a reality show; the unique misadventures of a traveling band of little person pugilists more than willing to throw themselves around and spew blood for the enjoyment of douchebag frat boys.
The ringleader and owner of the outfit is Puppet, a.k.a. "The Psycho Dwarf" (much more preferable to The Sinful Dwarf) and he's the central character in this surreal journey. His job is to recruit and teach his brawlers how to entertain.
And by "entertain" I mean "staple things to their foreheads." This type of wrestling certainly trends towards the hardcore end of things, the kind of combat that is rich with sharp implements used to gouge skin, razor blades used to open foreheads, and high-flying leaps into breakable folding tables. It's not the mainstream stuff of the WWE, but we're not talking ultra-hardcore Necro Butcher shenanigans either.
The hook of course is that the perpetrators of such grisly mayhem are about four feet tall. While it makes for an unique brand, I'm not sure the quality of the grappling is enhanced by their stature. I appreciate their willingness to brutalize each other for sport, though to be honest, from what I saw of the crowds they typically draw, I don't think they should spill that much blood on the behalf of those a-holes.
Really, the wrestling clocks in at only a few minutes of each 21 minute episode. The real focus is on these guys and their personalities, and to a lesser extent Puppet's attempts to run a successful business. They're sort of interesting, but a lot of that might just because of the peculiar industry they traffic in. Puppet is definitely the liveliest.
Still, this isn't high art; despite the Jackass association, you won't find any out-there stunts. There's a solid amount of gross-out humor, as well as more than a few censored genitalia—just don't expect Johnny Knoxville level of tomfoolery.
Six episodes, one disc, 1.78:1 anamorphic widescreen, 2.0 stereo, and no extras.
Well, it's a reality show we've never seen before. So it's got that going for
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Scales of Justice
Studio: Image Entertainment
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