Hello Meat Sacks, and welcome to the inaugural edition of Wasted Wednesdays.
Today’s review is of Peter Jackson’s “Braindead” (known as “Dead Alive” for most of the world due to another inferior film having a similar name first. Note: look for the 104 minute version. The US R-rated, 84 minute version is so heavily cut it is incoherent in its’ third act, and the 97 minute US cut, though a bit more tight, is missing nearly 8 minutes of insane gore from the original New Zealand cut.)
Easily bored? Here’s THE BREAKDOWN:
–Should I watch this?
Yes. I really don’t need to expound on this, but this movie is one of the splatter classics. It is easily one of the goriest films ever made, it’s fucking hilarious, and there’s a scene with a lawnmower. And zombies. If that doesn’t give you a horror boner, you came to the wrong corner of teh interwebs when you came to this website, little girl. And if you hear the name Peter Jackson and think of rings and crying midgets and movies that look like video games on meth, this movie will cleanse your palate of that nonsense.
–Should I get wasted to watch this?
It’s not necessary but, as with all things of quality, it is not discouraged. This movie is ridiculously entertaining on it’s own, but booze will only enhance the awe you will feel the first time you see it, and the unrepentant glee you will feel all the times thereafter.
–Are there titties?
No. But don’t let that deter you, perv. This movie is too busy destroying the human anatomy in ways you’ve never dreamed possible to be distracted by such base things as your over-clocked hormones. Wait…I stand corrected. There are puppet tits at the end. So….yeah.
It’s a fucking zombie movie. What kind of plot do you expect? There’s momma’s boy Lionel (played magnificently by Timothy Balme), his innocent crush chick, his domineering mom, his asshole uncle, and a claymation rat-monkey that apparently crawled right out of Ray Harryhausen’s asshole with a burning desire to bite people and turn them into undead flesh eaters. Momma gets munched, Lionel fucks up, lots of zombies show up, gore. That’s the plot.
This movie takes place in New Zealand in the 1950’s, so right off the bat it’s as fucking charming as watching a Dean Martin roast. The characters are all easy to figure out, and there’s not a lot of heavy exposition to get in the way. A couple of campy emo scenes sneak in here and there, but this movie does not waste time getting to the crazy. And once it really throws that wad of turd in the proverbial fan, prepare to have your eyeballs melt.
Let me put it this way…I once tried to take a drink every time someone in this movie gotwrecked. I nearly died. I’m not saying ambulances were called, but I am saying medical attention might have been required. I’m still hungover today.
And while I’m on that subject…this review was written while the movie is playing in the background. I’ve seen it dozens of times, and every time I find something new to go “OOOOHHHH” over. It’s good to watch with friends, it’s good to watch solo, it’s good to watch with your religious cousin who starts crying about 15 minutes in. This time, I’m enjoying it with a few vodka and cranberrys, with a little budget energy drink tossed in to make me saltier than I already am, and to make me forget the inevitable taunts that a vodka cranberry elicits ever since Leo got insulted in “The Departed”. Really guys, it’s hilarious every time I hear about how I’m on my period. Hilarious.
I also had a few Hellfires to start off the day, which if you don’t know is 100 proof cinnamon schnapps (not that sissy Fireball crap you swill), Bacardi 151, and Monster energy drink. It’s basically jet fuel for asshole-ishness, which is perfect for writing about splatter films. For instance, I’m currently cackling like a fucking witch because someone just ate a dog in the movie and that’s incredibly funny when you drink that crap. I mean, it’s funny normally, but now it’s a laugh riot.
So look, you’re not here to fuck around, you want to know about tits and gore. I get it. Let me cut to the chase. There are no titties here. The downside of most excellent splatter films is that they’re more interested in flinging corn syrup and pig guts than they are in those parts of the female body that might make you pop a trouser tent, and such is the case here. The love interest of the film Paquita, played by Diana Peñalver, is adorable, but very clothed for the entire running time. The only other major female character is the mother, played by Elizabeth Moody (damn Sackville-Bagginses!) and you do NOT want to see her sloppy fun bags. Or maybe you do, in which case I salute you and your gag reflex, you disgusting pig.
But where there’s a whip, there’s a way, as they say…and the lack of mammary exposure is more than compensated for by the gore. The INSANE amount of gore. The LEGENDARY amount of gore. I love me some splatter films, but there are few to none that can even come close to the overwhelming assault on your sensibilities that occurs here. It’s like Faces Of Death, the Comedy. This movie defines the portmanteau “splatstick”, with every flying limb and crawling intestine it thrusts into your quivering head-jelly. And yes I just said “crawling intestine”. They crawl in this movie. They also fart and preen in the mirror. Because God loves you and wants you to be happy.
I would give a breakdown of the splatter-ific moments in this movie, but I don’t have enough time, and attention spans aren’t what they once were. So here’s a greatest hits: there’s multiple decapitations, removal of limbs by axe and cleaver, ripping out of spines, the aforementioned canine consumption (still hilarious), face-eating, face stabbing, ripping off of faces, unwilling plier dentistry, head torn apart from the inside, death by light socket, kung fu zombie killing (you have to see it to understand), and as mentioned earlier, the Lawnmower.
If there is one iconic moment from this movie, it’s the Lawnmower scene. I’m not into spoiling movies in my reviews, so I can’t describe this scene in any detail other than to say that there’s a room full of zombies, a cowering pair of living girls about to be consumed, and a man that busts in wielding your everyday, average push mower and a one-liner to make Schwarzenegger proud. You know how female squirting has just been outlawed in British pornography? This scene is to horror movies what Cytheria is to porn. If you don’t get that reference, then hit the fucking Google, my friend. It’s reported that there’s five gallons of the red stuff being shed per second of film in this scene. That’s a record, kids, if you’re keeping track.
The other thing to remember about this movie is that it was made before the era of digital blood splatter and CG everything. Jackson’s latest green screen epics (gosh, I can’t think of their names) are the diametric opposites of this movie, where special effects god Richard Taylor and prosthetics guru Bob McCarron (yes, if you worked on Howling III I can call you a fucking guru) basically whip you in the face with their giant throbbing practical effects dicks. There’s a few shots in this movie that I honestly can’t figure out how they accomplished and made them look that good. I mean, I can figure it out how they were done, but they’re so fucking amazing looking that I just turn into a horror fangirl on the spot. It’s a monumentally creative and viciously effective movie when it comes to the special effects. Well…aside from the damn monkey.
And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that there’s a zombie baby in this. To me, a zombie baby is kind of like the soufflé of horror movie tropes. They’re not common, but when they show up, it’s really not that easy to get them done right. But, my god, when they’re good, they’re the best fucking thing ever. Baby Selwyn, as the zombie baby in this movie is known, is arguably the Greatest Zombie Baby Ever. Watch the movie and debate me on the subject, if you want. And I’ll shit down your neck. It’s the Greatest Zombie Baby. End of discussion.
Alright, so I could verbally masturbate over this movie all night…but if you’re reading this on this website you basically are, like me, a degenerate drunken asshole. Or at least, I hope you are. And if not then I hope you are at least a degenerate. Or a drunk. Or an asshole of the highest magnitude. And if you are any or all of those things you will enjoy this evil little bastard of a movie. And you shouldn’t waste any more time listening to me drunkenly ramble on about it, you should just go watch the fucking thing and join the lucky ones whose brains can’t unsee this shit.
One of the finest splatter movies ever made. Period. Chock full of some of the most gory, insane, unbelievable deaths and dismemberments you’ve ever seen put to film. Also, hilarious. A must-watch.
ATTENTION DEFICIT DRUNK CORNER:
If you simply can’t get through a movie without some sort of fucking drinking game, here’s a good one. Or at least a one. Every time someone who went on to be in the Lord of the Rings or Hobbit movies is on screen, take a drink. Every time they die, (and that means some people die twice…once when they’re living and once when they’re dead), finish the drink. For example, the mother, the undead punk guy, the milkman, Peter Jackson himself in his cameo as the undertaker’s assistant, they all were in the LOTR trilogy at some point or other, as well as a few others. And now that fact can get you wasted, nerd.
UNCLE FRANK’S SPLATTER SCORE:
– Five out of five Baby Selwyns
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Categories: Wasted Wednesday