Black Devil Doll (Jonathan Louis Lewis, 2007)

What do you think the first thing an anatomically correct puppet is going to do after they have been possessed by the spirit of a recently executed black radical/serial rapist/serial killer? (Scrounge up some white chicks with big booties and go to town on their pallid pussies with their big black puppet cocks?) Um, hello? Could you be more racist? (Okay, I'll give it a shot. Will he order up a tasty bucket of Oakland Fried Chicken?) All right, when I said, "could you be more racist," I didn't mean... Never mind. Greetings, I'm about to type words about Black Devil Doll. It's a movie about a mildly demonic black puppet who likes to fuck chubby white women. If the premise of this cinematic non-abomination offends you, what the hell is wrong with you? As the film's tagline says, "It's only a puppet, it's only a puppet, it's only a..." well, you get the idea. Seriously, though, it helps to have an affinity for tasteless and juvenile humour to watch this movie with any level of comfort. (Excuse me. Yeah, hi. I couldn't help but notice that you forgot to mention, when listing their many character traits, that the amorous puppet at the centre of this wonderfully sordid hunk of putrid trash was a homosexual necrophiliac.) Oh, yeah, how could I forget that, as the fact the puppet mounts dead men as well dead women was the moment I started to squirm less in my seat. (Uh, don't you mean, squirm more?) Not at all, my rambunctious young rabbinical student. Sure, writer-director Jonathan Louis Lewis tries to make the scene where a mildly demonic black puppet pounds a wannabe white rapper in the ass with his mildly demonic big black puppet cock a little less gay by editing it together with scenes of a racially ambiguous woman with fake tits taking a shower, but the fact he allowed any gay content to seep into his film is a reason to celebrate.

(Quick question: You called this a "wonderfully sordid hunk of putrid trash.") I don't think I said that. But even if I did, so what? (Well, don't you think that's a bit of an exaggeration?) An exaggeration, eh? You leave me no choice. There's a scene in Black Devil Doll where Mubia Abul-Jama, the horny/murderous puppet in the black power t-shirt, is trying to kill/have kinky sex with the aforementioned racially ambiguous woman with the fake tits. Only problem is, a locked door stands between the puppet and his fake-tittied racially ambiguous prize. To combat this problem, Mubia fires a molten stream of toxic fecal matter from his splinter-causing butt-hole at the door. Melting the obstruction the only way explosive diarrhea can, fast and messy, Mubia enters the hole his weaponized anus created with the type of swagger you would expect from someone who just ruined a perfectly good door with their own shit.

So, does that answer your question? (You're right, I'm wrong. This movie is a wonderfully sordid hunk of putrid trash. Though, you keep calling Natasha Talonz "a racially ambiguous woman with fake tits.") Again, so? (Well, she's clearly white.) To you she's white, but to me she's racially ambiguous. In fact, I thought she looked Laotian from certain angles. (But she's not Laotian...from any angle.) You don't know that. [I hate to interrupt this stimulating exchange, but I don't think you guys should be talking about this.]

You're right, let's instead go a mini-tangent about how you could watch the gorgeous, racially unambiguous, and shapely as all get out Heather Murphy eat burgers and fries next to USA Today box all day long. (Yeah, that's a good idea.)

Check this out, in order to shield the star of the movie from the murder and mayhem occurring at the film's primary location, the director decides to have her go to McDonald's. And to keep us informed as to what she's doing, we're periodically shown her eating. (Is she talking to friends?) No, her friends are busy being murdered/raped at the film's primary location by a horny puppet, she's just eating quietly by herself. (Oh. I have to say, that doesn't sound very interesting.)

Now, normally the sight of a women eating by herself wouldn't be all that interesting. But then again, Heather Murphy is no ordinary woman. The list of mundane activities I could watch her partake in is endless.

(Would you watch her change a flat tire?) Hell yes I would; Heather Murphy needs a jack, stat! (Give birth standing up to a human-puppet hybrid?) I guess I would watch that. (How 'bout watching her go to the mall to buy a Patrick Dempsey poster?) Sure, why not. Is this going anywhere? (Not really. I was just curious to know if you were serious.) Serious about what? (Serious about the amount of mundane activities you would watch her do.) Oh, I see. I'm surprised you think giving birth standing up and buying Patrick Dempsey posters are mundane activities.

Speaking of mundane activities, I could watch Heather Murphy watch television all day long.

(It's funny you should mention that you could do that, as we're about to watch Heather Murphy, who plays Heather, watch television right this minute.)

However, before we watch Heather Murphy watch television, Black Devil Doll unleashes the most evil-sounding, most skanky ass synth flourish to hit me in the fucking face in donkey's years. (A synth flourish?!? Shit, honky, that was no limp-wristed pansy ass synth flourish, that was a synth explosion. In fact, I'm still experiencing aftershocks in and around the furrowed gallows of my taint area. Who's responsible for these taint disrupting synth explosions?) It says here they were created by Giallos Flame. (Giallos Flame, eh? Say what you will about the validity of films that feature black militant puppets anally penetrating dead white rappers with their puppet dicks, the soundtrack to this film is smoking hot.)

Leggily watching television in a manner that was surprisingly leggy from someone who possesses such big ass titties, Heather, curvaceous to the point of Leroy-based erectorial madness, is bored with what the 500 channel universe has to offer. After learning a black power revolutionary from the 1960s is going to be executed in the electric chair for murdering a bunch of white women, Heather turns off the television and starts messing around with a ouija board. Conjuring the spirit of the recently deceased African-American, his spirit is zapped into the body of some Howdy-Doody-lookin' motherfucker sitting on Heather's couch.

Reborn as a motherfuckin' puppet, Mubia Abul-Jama is ready to begin his courtship of Heather. Oh, wait a minute. It would seem that Mubia's cock is already in Heather's mouth. Man, that was fast. You know what they say, chicks dig puppets. (They don't say that.) Okay, they don't. But you try to explain the rapid nature of Mubia's freakishly fast courtship of Heather, 'cause I barely had time to blink.

(Won't Martin Boone's White T, Heather's rapper boyfriend, be pissed that his shapely girlfriend is giving impromptu blow jobs to mildly demonic black puppets?) Probably. But then again, fuck that lame ass cracker; he's way out of Heather's league, yo.

(Are Mubia and Heather boyfriend and girlfriend?) Why do you ask? (Well, from where I was sitting, it seemed like the majority of the activities they were engaging in during the so-called "romantic montage" were things a mother and son would do together. You know, getting ice cream, riding on the swings, sliding down the slide, etc.) Look closer, do you fuck your mom doggiestyle? (Oh, yeah, there are sex scenes mixed together with the parts where they frolic in the park. Whoops. Oh, and to answer your question: No, I don't fuck my mom...doggiestyle.)

As everyone knows, dating a puppet can be fraught with unforeseen complications. On the other hand, dating sexual active puppets who are black power revolutionaries is not only fraught with unforeseen complications, it's rife with them. Rife!!! Telling Heather during a heart-to-heart chat that he needs get some "stank on the side," Mubia somehow manages to convince her that banging her friends is in both their best interests. He may be a puppet, but he's one smooth operator.

Judging by the fact he sprays her window with five dollops worth of puppet jizz before they even make it inside the door, Mubia clearly approves of the structural makeup of Heather's friends. I, however, had some issues with the way they were dressed. Skankily sheathed in non-existent skirts and booty shorts, Heather's friends had a sun-baked porno sheen about them was unappealing. Things improved somewhat when we actually meet them, as I liked the southern-fried Candy (Christine Svendsen) and her obsession with taking a dump; and the part where a pigtail-wearing Bamby (Precious Cox) calls Heather's boobs soft like pillows.

After the ladies are finished playing twister, Mubia gives Heather the signal to vacate the premises (he has yet reveal himself as a sentient puppet to Heather's friends). With Heather away, Candy takes a bath, Bamby goes out back to work on her tan, Buffy (Erika Branich), a muscular chick who shills for Rotten Cotton , takes a nap, and Natasha (Natasha Talonz) and her giant fake breasts hop in the shower. This is when Mubia jumps to his feet and begins his campaign of terror. (Campaign of what? I thought you said he just wanted to make sweet love to them.) He does, but he's a mildly demonic puppet. In other words, he simply can't go up to them and say: Excuse me, miss. Could I put my puppet dick in your non-puppet vagina? The world doesn't work that way. No, what he has to do is, he has to kill them first.

(Won't Heather be upset when she finds out that Mubia has murdered all her friends?) Most definitely. In fact, here she comes right now. Let's watch her reaction. Yep, you were right, she's one unhappy white chick. You would be too, if you came home to find that your black power revolutionary puppet boyfriend bludgeoned, slashed, stabbed, and electrocuted all your friends and left them in a pile on the living room floor for you to clean up.

Sure, she doesn't know how to hold a gun properly, and she can't aim for shit, but the sight of Heather firing a gun (her beautiful stomach fat oozing out from her jean skirt waistband like a fleshy waterfall) in the general direction of a psychotic puppet is the stuff erotic dreams are made of. (Didn't you think the scene went a little too long.) Hell no. I could watch spent shell casings hit the kitchen floor around her meaty calves in slow-motion for hours on end.

Offensive, sick, severely warped, politically incorrect, on the cusp of being amusing in places, and in desperate need of competent costume designer (would it have killed them to have put one of Heather's friends, or, better yet, Heather herself, in a pair of black hold-up stockings?), Black Devil Dolls is not for the squeamish, or the overly sensitive, or those who with high moral standards.