Judge David Johnson is a flesh eater. And he goes out at night. But mainly to Wendy's for hamburgers.
Love. Romance. And the taste of human flesh.
Once in a while I get a low-budget, campy horror film to review that truly surprises me with its entertainment quality, sense of humor, special effects, and impressive execution. Another interesting fact about me: both of my elbows could be hyper-extended until after a basketball injury and now only my left arm is double-jointed. Also, I won the sportsmanship award my first year in the men's basketball rec league.
So, anyway, Night of the Flesheaters. It stinks.
The story, so to speak, involves a crime-lord who's gone into the woods in the middle of the night looking for his wife, who's run off with an archaeologist. While the fugitive couple attempts to evade capture, a new danger presents itself: Native American demon cannibal zombies, or some such arrangement of those words. The protagonists run around and spout off torturous exposition and eventually a find a young woman in her underwear. And the crime boss has his eyeball gouged out by a dwarf in a rubber costume. Then the movie ends and I have to type up this stupid review.
For the first 25 minutes you're going to have to watch an excruciating one-man monologue delivered by the crime boss guy, who I'm sure is played by a guy with a real name, but, honestly, I'm so irritated with him I don't want to do the rudimentary Google search. Once this sequence passes—with the ease and comfort of a kidney stone—the Native American demon things finally make an appearance.
They are very brief appearances, unfortunately. I say "unfortunately" not because the costume design and effects are so great that being denied more footage is an injustice, but rather what eats up the runtime in their stead is more awful dialogue. Worse, it's awful dialogue (detailing the nonsense of the mythology) delivered with line readings that can strip wallpaper.
I'm virtually certain the badness of it all is tongue in cheek. The jokes that are sporadically tossed into the script justify that. But whether the actors are this bad or pretending to be this bad, it's still bad, and the unfunny gag overstays its welcome, barreling over the border of "Subversive" into the "Land of Pain."
Not much going in the DVD: a fake widescreen transfer with grainy picture quality (the entire film takes place at night), 2.0 stereo and a still gallery.
Guilty. Put these Flesheaters on a vegan diet and banish them to Northern
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Scales of Justice
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