DIRECTOR: Tom Martino
CAST: Howard Calvert, Jamelle Kent, Danny McMarty, Matt Rogers, Corey Fuller, Joe Grisaffi
Space honkies battle Earthling crack dealers in a race war for the hood. Blaxploitation on PCP.
It’s crackers versus crack dealers in this insane twist on Blaxploitation cinema. It’s a great example of the big difference between racist humor and racial humor. It’s all about the intent of the deliverer. Here it’s all in good clean fun. Well, maybe not clean, exactly. It’s like a Chris Seaver film gone “urban”. The humor, even beyond the racial stuff (which is ubiquitous), is awfully offensive and frequently downright peculiar. Pink-lipped, synth voiced, dreaded-out black dudes? A milk-jug faced person giving a blow job? He spits, by the way. Sex with a decrepit, rotted head? A half merman, half black man? A mernigga? That just scratches the barest surface. Besides a racially charged plot about a pair of crack dealin’ niggas battling outer space Nazi honkies for their hood (!?), tons of insanely absurd left-turn-no-signal gags keep you on your toes while the race humor keeps you on edge – and while both keep you laughing your ass off. Some of the jokes herein are so beyond the pale I’m surprised the filmmakers went there; clearly, all involved, white and black, are very open-minded. So ought the film’s audience to be. Prudes need not apply. What with all the fucking of inappropriate objects of affection, monkey noises (shocking in the context, trust me), zombie gore (yep), a bizarre parade of crack customers (one guy BESIDES the pink-lipped fella also sings but he gets follow-the-bouncing-crack-rock singalong subtitles), a moose puppet Islamic stereotype (uh-huh), alphabet soup vomit, low-tech but highly effective gore, and … fuck, I could go on and on and reveal the entire movie, but that wouldn’t be right. I could go on and on about how startling all this is and how it racks up tons of watchability through shock value and creativity. I could tell you about the PCP, pot and copious drug use. I could regale you with tales of the body fluids (besides the blood). I could write ad naueam about the relentless slew of race jokes – whites, blacks, Jews, Mexicans, those of Asian descent, those of Middle Eastern descent, nobody is safe. I could be just as relentless discussing the non-stop barrage of non sequitur humor. I could delineate all the Seaver-esque pop culture references crammed into these 90-odd minutes. Between the glorious, fuck-it no-budget solutions to sets, FX and more and the endlessly inventive gags as diverse as the ethnicities poked fun at by the film. It’s as gory as it is funny as it is over – way over – the fucking top. I could natter forever about all these things. But that would take up all the time you need to watch the movie. (Also, there are robots.)
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