This monkey's gone to heaven.
Mark Remington runs a circus where the most popular attraction is the exit. When the carney's Simon Legree comes along to foreclose on his abused animal entertainment orphanage, the WWF screams "hooray!" But Mark's not throwing in the lion tamer just yet. He will go to Africa (by way of some airline advertising footage), hook up with big game hunter Tonga Jack, and capture the Mighty Gorga, otherwise known as King Kong and Joe Young's illegitimate love child. Upon arriving at Lion Country Safari…oops…sorry…the "Dark Continent," he discovers that Jack's compound is now run by his daughter Tonga…April, and is equally threatened with foreclosure by competing poacher Morgan (what is it with wild animals and fiduciary insecurity?). Everyone takes a veldt voyage for a little super-sized simian scavenger hunt, and after endless scenes of natives worshipping this mysterious massive monkey by continuously intoning his name, Gorga makes an appearance and fights a prehistoric hand puppet. To the death! Our cash strapped white Bwana devils are captured, but they easily outwit the dipstick natives, and discover a cave of ancient, valuable Mardi Gras beads. Financial solvency is achieved via the desecration of that which was sacred to the indigenous population and the oversized orangutan is more or less forgotten.
One Million AC/DC is a heretofore-unrecorded era in prehistory when sources of food other than grapes and the concept of personal shame were complete unknowns. So was hygiene and soap for that matter, as the skinniest, dirtiest, and vilest actors alive cavort in a Styrofoam cave and shark down on each other like jackrabbits on industrial strength Spanish fly. In between sex acts, they mutter mindlessly and avoid the savage onslaught of a gumball machine plastic dinosaur. A guy in a gorilla suits repeatedly assaults some runaway hippie chick, the toy T-Rex attacks, and someone develops the bow and arrow. Hopefully, they aim it at the director's heart.
Mighty Gorga is the cinematic equivalent of a summer afternoon at a second tier, local, cut-rate amusement park, one that considers a swing set an E ticket. If you're willing to pay the price, stand in line with the other body odor-challenged individuals and spend your bail money on corndogs and Diet Squirt, you'll end up having about three or four minutes of non-sunstroke oriented fun. But with Gorga, it's an outrageously satisfying and genuinely enjoyable few moments. The hilarious hijinks include a mook in a flea bitten half ape suit (since we never see anything below its always open maw), complete with non-blinking, deer in the headlight eyeballs, a less than successful Land of the Lost style Jurassic joke sock puppet, and numerous incompatible process shots. You will have to wade through the actors endless cornball conversations and our leading man's countless pauses to satiate his chronic nic fits, but when the ultimate beastie battle consists of a green mitten swiping at a black pile of fur, it's well worth the secondhand smoke. While the plot logic of a one man/one woman team going out into the jungle to capture an ape the size of Rhode Island is questionable, you just got to love a film that includes a beer bellied witch doctor, painted up like trash to hide his obvious Caucasian trappings, blurting out "Oh Mighty Gorga" every five minutes.
Too bad One Million AC/DC is so unbearably atrocious that its few moments of delirious pleasure can't even begin to drain the humongous boil of pus and purulence present. It's like one of those horrible family reunions where everyone looks wretched and smells of onions and scotch and fun as a concept seems suspended in gallons of pork gravy and a metric ton of underarm flab. All the nudity, graphic grappling, and abscess filled flesh absent from Gorga is multiplied, like ever-present foot fungus, in Million. The few fleeting microseconds of merriment derived from seeing the filmmakers force perspective a dime store dino over a pile of gravel cannot outweigh the horror of underfed street trash stroking their cold sores. The script, written by Ed Wood Jr. under a pseudonym, fluctuates between illiterate and ignorant, and director Ed De Priest can't even stage a sex scene properly. One assumes that the paying audience for such sordidness would actually like to SEE what is going on, instead of close-ups of the actor's head lice. Our defrocked De Priest's ineptitude does derive one truly hilarious sequence however: during the "orgy" scene, the grunts and groans of the foul figetters is replaced by a soundtrack loop of people shouting "Food" in a distinctly Capt. Caveman fashion. After the 37th call for sustenance, you'll forget that you are watching hobos hump. Honestly, this irredeemable piece of cinematic silt creates a new epochcrophol time measurement: the MINOUR. Here's how it works: a minute of One Million AC/DC oozes across the TV screen. One hour of your life is lost within a bad movie black hole. Or at least it SEEMS that way.
And this makes recommending this DVD from Something Weird rather complicated. Gorga is so god-awful gonzo that it reaches pleasures zones within your cinematic cortex yet unexplored. Million is just putrid, stinking like that old container of chunky, skunky eggnog from last Christmas that you forgot to throw away. It is up to the extras, therefore, to sink or save this package. Fortunately, SWV rises to the occasion, and offers some truly memorable mini-moments. The trailers are absolutely unforgettable, revolving around the lost world/continent/valley motif. If you like to see iguana and baby alligators with racing fins super-glued to their backs doing a Mesozoic era square dance, these trailers will satisfy your need for faux dino dosadoing. The archival shorts feature a giggly girlie gawk fest starring Rodney Dangerfield's French cousin and a homemade time travel treat, in which a pre-Peace Corps nebbish experiences the dawn of time and all its creepy crawly inhabitants from a super 8mm stop motion vantage point. Add to this a weird sequence in which a dancer falls for the monkey suit she accidentally shoots, and the pain of Million seems less discordant. Perhaps we should just take a page out of the Gorga guide to vengeance and pray for a dude in a ratty chimp suit to come along and fling his feces at One Million AC/DC. It could only be an improvement.
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