Blood Diner (Jackie Kong, 1987)

Since the sight of Carl Crew spitting the bloodied chunks of flesh he had just bitten from the leg of Jimmy Hitler in Lisa Elaina's face is probably the funniest thing I've seen in years, it only makes sense to mention it in my opening line for my review of Blood Diner, a film so fabulously weird, that it makes my heart hurt just thinking about it. And, after skimming the over the opening line of my review of this Jackie Kong-directed masterpiece of the absurd, it would appear that I totally just mentioned it. Feel free to reexamine what I wrote in that opening line. Go ahead. See anything interesting? Well, besides the fact that whoever wrote it is severely unwell in the bumpy noodle department, no, I don't see anything interesting. Check out those names. I mean, who are these people? And this question doesn't just apply to Carl Crew, Lisa Elaina (a.k.a. Lisa Guggenheim), and the guy who plays Jimmy Hitler, the entire cast is unknown to me. Seriously, I didn't recognize a single name when the lengthy cast is listed during the end credits. Now, this might cause alarm in some, as people in general seem to take comfort in films that boast familiar faces. But not me. I've said it once and I'll say it again, I'm sick and tired of seeing the same actors in every movie. In other words, I crave new faces, and Blood Diner is filled with them. You've got Carol Katz as the film's resident "Lumerian Expert," Tanya Papanicolas as the great and powerful "Sheetar," Brad Biggart as "Sheetar's John," and Eva Swidereka as "Aerobics Girl." One by one, they show up in this movie and make their presence felt. And they better had, as, in most cases, this would be their lone contribution to the cinematic arts.

When LaNette La France throws her half-eaten hamburger, or was it a taco? When LaNette La France tosses whatever she was eating at Carl Crew's lumpy ass, which, at the time the mysterious food item was thrown, was being mooned in the general direction of Mrs. La France through the driver's side window of his catering van, I thought to myself: Congratulations, LaNette La France. You will forever be known as the surly police detective who splattered half-eaten food all over the left side of Carl Crew's ample posterior. The food splatter scene, by the way, is probably the second funniest scene in Blood Diner. Which, strangely enough, occurs moments after the scene where Carl Crew spits Jimmy Hitler's calve blood in the face of a virgin sitting ringside at a wrestling match.

Call me judgmental and sad, but I find it strange that you think facial blood spitting and ass cheek-based condiment splatter is so freaking hilarious. You know you're talking about yourself, right? Oh, yeah, so I am. Well, so what if I think those things are funny. I'm allowed to laugh, aren't I?

You know what else I find funny? Films about cannibalistic brothers who own and operate diners located on Hollywood Blvd. You know what? I guess a film like that could be funny. Did I mention they keep their uncle's talking brain in a jar in the body part-laden back room of their successful vegetarian eatery? No? Well, they do. It's just one of the many kooky events that take place in this sick and twisted film.

Even though I've seen a lot of wacky shit over the years, the sheer amount of insanity Blood Diner puts out there on a regular basis is mind-boggling. In fact, I'm declaring Blood Diner to be not just a film, but "filmed insanity." What does that mean? Well, I think what I'm saying is, if you want to understand crazy, and, I mean, truly understand what it means to be crazy, watch Blood Diner, as it will definitely give you a shitload of insight into what insanity looks like.

Given Lumarian amulets by their Sheetar-loving, meat cleaver-wielding, genitals grabbing Uncle Anwar (Drew Godderis), little Michael (Roxanne Cybelle) and little George (Sir Lamont Rodenheaver) are told to be good little boys and to continue worshiping the Goddess Sheetar just before he's shot and killed by police.

Where was their mother during all this, you ask? Duh, she was out buying tampons.

Fast-forward twenty years, and Michael Tutman (Rick Burks) and George Tutman (Carl Crew) are in the process of digging up their Uncle Anwar's grave in order to take his brain. Putting it in a jar, the brothers recite a chant from some book, and, boom, just like that, their Uncle Anwar is back. Sure, he's just a brain in a jar, but this brain in a jar has got big plans. And, yes, they [the plans] mostly involve the return of his beloved Sheetar.

After anointing Michael and George disciples of Sheetar, Uncle Anwar informs his nephews what they will need to do in order to bring Sheetar back to life.

Step one: Construct Sheetar by using the body parts of immoral women, the trashier, the better.

Step two: Throw a well-attended blood buffet. Hold on, don't you mean, a blood feast? No, I'm pretty sure they said "blood buffet." Actually, they mention blood buffet on several occasions. So, yeah, it's definitely blood buffet; don't skimp on the dead hooker livers.

Step three: Supply a female virgin for Sheetar to eat when she is reborn. A virgin in Los Angles? Ha! Good luck. That city is filled with nothing but lazy-eyed whores of the leggy variety.

While Michael and George were listening to their Uncle Anwar's instructions, I did a quick internet search that included the words, "Blood Diner" and "Janet Jackson," and was pleasantly surprised to find out that other people beside myself thought Detective Sheba Jackson (LaNette La France) looked a little like Janet Jackson. Anyway, she's teamed up with Detective Mark Shepard (Roger Dauer) by Cheif Miller (Max Morris), their superior officer, who, for some bizarre reason, speaks with a Middle Eastern accent. Uh, the reason he speaks with a Middle Eastern accent is because he's from the Middle East. Dumbass. No, I get that. I just found it odd that the chief of police spoke with... You know what? Never mind. I'm going to let this one go, as I'm being sidetracked from my original point. And that is, LaNette La France looks like Janet Jackson, and she's a terrible/amazing actress.

It would seem that Michael may have found a virgin in the form of Connie (Lisa Elaina), a shy cheerleader. At the Tutman Cafe, the city's premier vegetarian diner, with her skanky friends, Connie is ridiculed by them when she refuses to attend an audition for a nude aerobics show. Luckily, though, Michael is there to comfort her in her time of need.

Since you can't mention nude aerobics without at least showing us a little jumping-jack induced breast jiggling, we're taken to the very audition Connie refused to go to. And just as their light blue thongs were about to get a lost in a rectal haze, two guys in Ronald Reagan masks storm in firing uzis. It appears as though that Michael and George Tutman have decided to use the body parts of the women auditioning for the nude aerobics show to piece together Sheetar. I have to say, this was smart thinking on their part, as you want Sheetar to have a well-toned body if you expect her to rule the world with any amount of gusto.

However, I have to say, nude aerobics?!? Gag me with a leotard. That's, like, so gross. At any rate, with the body parts and the virgin ready to go, all Michael and George need to do is find the right ingredients for the blood buffet. You know what that means, it's time to hit Club Dread to pick up some trashy women. While I agree that Peggy (Effie Bilbrey) is in fact trashy. I thought her friend Joanne (Laurie Guzda) was a tad lacking in the trashy department. Let's be honest, she looked like a fortune tellers assistant. I don't get it, is that not trashy? No, it is not. Either way, Michael, who's dressed like a gay Elvis impersonator, deep fries Peggy's head, and Joanne gets chopped in half by George, who's dressed like a gay Johnny Cash impersonator.

Hot on their trail, but not hot enough to cause the Tutman boys too much alarm, Sheba and Mark consult a Lumarian expert (Carol Katz) complete with khaki shorts and a pit helmet, and the owner of a rival vegetarian eatery named Stan Saldon (Bob Loya), whose lone customer is a bug-eyed, bearded dummy that Stan talks to via ventriloquism.

Here's a fun game to play, count the number of times Connie is splattered with an icky substance throughout this film. Well, we all know she gets chunky calve blood spat in her face. So, that's one icky substance. When Michael and George are transporting Connie and the body of Sheetar to Club Dread, Michael tosses the old brain that was inside Sheetar's head in the general direction of Connie, which causes some brain gunk to splash on her. Mark that down as 'two' ick subs. And, in the same scene, when Michael takes Anwar's brain and places inside Sheetar's head, the jar that once contained Anwar's brain is sitting above Connie's head. And you know what that means? Every time the van would hit a bump in the road, some brain jar juice would spill onto Connie's head. Three icky substances!

The final instance involving an icky substance splattering on Connie occurs during the epically insane finale at Club Dread. During the ceremony to reanimate Sheetar, a shootout ensues; what am I saying, an orgy of violence ensues. And since not quite reanimated she-goddesses are fragile creatures, Sheetar vomits green slime. And you wanna guess where the majority of that green slime lands? That's right, on top Connie's pretty little head. Wow, that makes that a total of four icky substances!

Five, if you include the arterial spray that hits Connie in the face after George bites into Jimmy Hitler's leg; as we all know, he would spit a chunk of Jimmy Hitler's calve in her face moments later. You know what? Let's include the initial arterial spray that hits her in the face. So, adding it all up, that makes it a solid five times that Connie gets splashed, splattered and sprayed with an icky substance. I don't know 'bout you, but I feel tingly all over.

Bloody arm stumps spewing crimson nectar, piss poor attempts at vehicular homicide, pill-popping new wave zombies gorging on a blood buffet, exploding heads, brown-shirted guitar players, kung-fu floozies killed by wayward stalactites, and a toothy stomach maw desperate to consume virgin flesh, this is what brainsick is supposed to look like. Wrong/right on every possible level, Blood Diner should be the blueprint for every movie in existence. What's that? It's not. I know it's not. Didn't you hear what I said? It should be the blueprint. In other words, stop making pedestrian garbage and start making more movies like Blood Diner!

Special thanks to ido for pushing me in front of this delightful piece of Kongsploitation.

The Being (Jackie Kong, 1983)

She manages the annual Easter Egg hunt; she's leading the charge to make Pottsville, Idaho smut-free by the end of 1983; she hosts opera recitals in her home (much to the chagrin of her opera-hating husband); and she investigates strange noises with a curious, long-chinned, Z'darian aplomb. What I think I'm trying to say is, is there anything Ruth Buzzi can't do? I'm sorry, but I nearly fried my brain thinking about that particular question. I mean, it's quite the mind-scrambler. Is it just me or does Ruth Buzzi always play shrill women who spend most of their waking hours fighting against the evils of pornography? First of all, Ruth Buzzi is never shrill; she has the voice of an angel. And secondly, I think you're thinking about the character she plays in Skatetown, U.S.A., who, if memory serves me correctly, was a bit of a square. (You could say Ruth Buzzi is a colossal a buzzkill in that film, the second greatest roller disco flick after the indomitable Roller Boogie -- Get it? Get what? Ruth Buzzi. Buzzkill. Both contain "buzz.") Anyway, Ruth Buzzi's campaign to rid Pottsville, Idaho of filth doesn't seem to be working, as the film currently playing at the local drive-in theatre features a naked woman painting her toe nails. Now, I don't know what the name of the lascivious slice of campy horror playing the local drive-in theatre is called, but I do know that it appears in The Being, Jackie Kong's directorial debut about a one-eyed radiation monster who terrorizes a small town in Idaho. Did you say, Jackie Kong? The very same Jackie Kong who made the brilliant Blood Diner? You know it.

Call me someone who is easily impressed, but I think it's swell that... no, wait, scratch that. Let me put it this way: I'm in love with the concept of an Asian-American woman directing a film about a bunch of potato-farming hillbillies who are devoured by a slim-covered aberration. I know, hardly anyone who is killed in this film is actually associated with the state's lucrative potato industry, or even a hillbilly for that matter. I just like the idea that someone named Jackie Kong is making cheesy horror flicks. Why must horror be solely the domain of white men named Steve? It doesn't. So, you go, Jackie Kong!

Just because I like the idea of an Asian-American woman directing a film that seems to be a homage to old school monster movies from 1950s, doesn't mean the film itself is entirely successful. And The Being is definitely a film that fits into that category, as it is severely lacking in several key areas.

A tell-tale sign the film doesn't quite pass muster in the awesome department can be found in the opening salvo of one of the above paragraphs. If I'm rambling about Ruth Buzzi right out of the gate like that, you know something rotten is afoot. Don't get me wrong, I adore Ruth Buzzi, she has certain je nais se quois that I find appealing, it's just that most people don't start off their reviews of The Being with so much Ruth Buzzi-based jibber-jabber.

I don't mean to burst your bubble, but you're not most people. In fact, you're none of those people. Don't apologize for being you. If you want go on a long, some might say, slightly misguided tangent about Ruth Buzzi in The Being, than I say, have at it. And speaking as an unbiased observer, you're absolutely right to focus your attention on Ruth Buzzi, as she's easily the best thing about this movie.

You don't know how relieved I am to hear you say that. Glancing over my imaginary notes, I can't help but notice that words "Ruth" and "Buzzi" are repeated ad nauseum.

After the opening credits have finished informing us that Kinky Friedman makes a "special appearance," and the DJ/narrator tells everyone that Pottsville, Idaho is the spud capital of the entire universe, we watch as a wayward teen is decapitated by a slimy creature while driving a car he stole from a local junkyard. Hiding in the trunk a la Repo Man, the slimy creature then grabs a mechanic while Det. Lutz (Bill Osco) isn't looking. Leaving nothing but a trail of green slime, the bearded, baseball hat-wearing detective is at a loss as to what [the fuck] is going on.

I don't know if he realizes it yet, but Det. Lutz is clearly in a monster movie. The sight of Martin Landau talking about the safeness of radiation on the six o'clock news is a sure sign he might be in one. However, I think he's going to need a little more proof than that. It's too bad he didn't go to the drive-in this evening, as a couple of drive-in goers are about to get attacked by a monster that is eerily similar to the one attacking the blonde woman in tonight's feature.

Again, like the previous encounters, all Det. Lutz finds at the scene are puddles of green slime. It's not until Det. Lutz goes home and finds green slime in his bed that he figures out that the green slime is a result of a creature that exudes green slime. It also doesn't hurt that the creature is hiding under his bed. Chasing him all the way to the railroad tracks, Det. Lutz manages to elude the creature by utilizing his natural born athleticism.

Hey, man, I thought you said Ruth Buzzi was in this flick? She is. Okay, so who's this Det. Lutz asshole? He is, whether you like or not, the star of the movie.

Speaking of which, Ruth Buzzi's first scene is coming up. It's Easter morning and Virginia Lane (Ruth Buzzi) is in charge of overseeing the Easter egg hunt for the children of Pottsville. Don't tell me one of the kids is about to get devoured by a radioactive fiend. One of them does come close to getting eaten (the director's own daughter), but the film doesn't quite go there. If this was, say, Blood Diner, I would have definitely expected one of the Easter egg hunters to buy it, but not here. Though, the being in The Being does start off as a precocious child, Dorothy Malone's precocious child to be specific; the blonde actress spends most of the movie wandering the streets and radiation dump sites in a half-crazed daze.

When she's finished overseeing the Easter egg hunt, Virgina Lane heads down to main street to lead a protest against the ills of pornography. I had no idea Pottsville had a protest-worthy pornography problem. It doesn't, thanks to the Sweeper Committee For Stomping Out Smut: Keeping porn out of Idaho is our business.

Just as I was about to give up on The Being, we're treated to a bizarre black and white dream sequence. Featuring Bill Osco and Martin Landau flying a small airplane, it culminates with the electrifying sight of Ruth Buzzi flying on a broomstick. Filmed utilizing the classic witch ascending on a broomstick profile shot, Ruth Buzzi slowly turns her head, smiles, and tells Det. Lutz that "it's all in your mind." The fact that her eyes are bleeding as she tells him this adds an extra layer of weird to an already weird sequence. Of course, I don't know what the dream sequence is supposed to represent exactly , but I appreciated its inclusion nonetheless.

As more and more townspeople go missing (three anti-porn hillbilly types are dispatched with very little fanfare) and Ruth Buzzi's opera recital finally gets underway (José Ferrer, Ruth Buzzi's husband has taken refuge in the garage - he's not an opera buff), the film gradually begins to overstay its welcome. And I'll admit, I was downright exhausted by the time Bill Osco takes on the monster in an abandoned warehouse. Despite sapping me of all my strength, I would recommend The Being to fans of throwback monster movies and Ruth Buzzi completists.