| Bad Taste dir, prod, writer, sfx, 2 roles - Peter Jackson 1988 |
| It seemed time to watch something that wasn't quite as forgotten as many of the semi-triumphant celluloid mishaps I've reviewed thus far. With a relatively small filmography, Kiwi Peter Jackson has (as of '02) certainly rocketed into the "visionary" directors category. Albert Pyun, Roger Corman, and Charles Band are more the caliber of filmmaker normally raked over the coals here at Grumpy Critic/Angry Cook, but there is always room for change. So with the surprisingly faithful, beautifully shot, and creatively fantastic, Lord of the Rings films rocketing Jackson into the limelight currently, why not look back at his 1988 entry that has been wowing genre fans for over a decade? Yes, Bad Taste it was titled, and in Bad Taste it is, and God help me, I love it. So does Bettie, my spatula-slinging paramour, and that is a good sign. Made for a fraction [Approximately 1/6. -Ed.] of what Raimi's Evil Dead cost (though heavily aided in the post-production process by sizable grants from the New Zealand Film Commission) Bad Taste is a rolicking, silly, extremely gory, and highly entertaining flick from the man who would wow "cerebral" critics with Heavenly Creatures. But where to start? Do I really need to talk about the excellent low-budget grue? The high-octane gunfights and chainsaw wieldings? The amusingly bad hair metal/synth soundtrack? The strong performances from what is essentially a group of beer-swilling mates shooting a home movie on weekends and afternoons? Let's talk about dinner instead. It has been ages since we sat down to properly enjoy a flick with accompanying food. Somehow we sat through William Castle's The House on Haunted Hill without thinking to review it... likewise Corman's X: The Man With the X-Ray Eyes. But it was time to dust off the lap-top, and prep the super-sized writing pad for a review. Look, I know it's a Legal Pad, but I call it supersized. So for dinner, at long last, a greasy cheeseburger. And the film? Well... I'll get to that. First though, the wine. With the car, Buco, recently hauled over by a group of cash-vampires at the dealership, funds were short. But it is hard for even a non-grumpy critic to sit through some of the dreck I subject Bettie and myself to sober, so libations are a must. In the LA Times, there was recently an article about quality wines availible for under 5 dollars. It seems that of late, there has been some kind of grape-glut, a huge overwhelming and apparently endless calvacade of quality vine, and so the wine prices are dropping. Sadly, the #1 ranked LA Times cheap-o wine wasn't in stock at the 99c-Only store... so I had to improvise. I picked up 2 bottles of red on the way home, Friday. At home waiting was some cheese, some crackers, a third bottle of wine (a sort of "so-long and thanks for all the fish" gift from a co-worker who recently jumped ship) a de-thawed hamburger patty from Omaha Steaks, and the appropriate acoutremonts. First comes the wine tasting, with the customery wedges of cheese on Carr's Biscuits. I think the cheese and crackers cost more than the wine. A '97 Oak Ridge "Classic Reserve" Cabernet Sauvignon kicks off the test. It smells strong, like feet, but tastes better than its bouquet. Not a sipping wine, it seems likely the best way to enjoy it is to swill quickly, and coast out the heartburn. This will go relatively well with the burger, as neither flavor should over-power the other. A '97 Lake Mendocino Merlot comes next. It's dry, which I like, and has relatively little aftertaste, which I like. All in all, it's sippable, so this is the after-dinner, sit on the floor with your notepad wine. The '98 Penfold's Bin 389 Cabernet Sauvignon is a Shiraz [Who knew such a thing was possible? Not me. -Ed.], which means that I am constantly singing along with The Pogues in my head ("In South Australia I was born - Heave Away! Haul Away! - In South Australia round Cape Horn - We're bound for South Australia!"), and the wine works well for an appertiff. Now the Californian wines cost a grand total of two dollars and fourteen cents, and the Shiraz cost me a great deal of bickering and sparring with my ex-co-worker, and I still feel that Mr. Jackson spent less on his movie. The burger was excellent, charred on the exterior, pink and bloody on the interior, and topped with some pickle relish, Trader Joe's honey-mustard, and the obligatory greens. See, if I eat the salad on the burger, I'm still virtuous, right? No cheese on the burger, rare for me, but I used the pepperjack to clear the palate during the wine tastings... Bettie had a garden burger topped with homemade pesto sauce. [Actually, the pesto was under the burger. -Ed.] Pesto sauce looks pretty scary when it's homemade, sort of slimy, but it tastes grand. Being generous, and larger in appetite, I finished off her burger for her. What? Oh, you would too, it's a shame to waste good food. And we started the movie. Bad Taste opens with a sinister joint-smoking man with a prosthetic finger (if you've seen it, you get it, if you haven't: rent it. Seriously) becoming aware of a potential alien invasion in New Zealand. Does he call the Queen? The Marines? His mum? Nope. This is a job, "for the boys". And his speed-dial even says: "The Boys". Tee-hee! Time to meet at least one of them. Barry, a guy who would seem more at home in the stands at a cricket match, or in a Rugby scrim, than as some sort of government operative. He is wandering through a seemingly deserted coastal village while his partner, Derek (a clean-shaven Peter Jackson) keeps watch from a nearby hill. A zombie-like fellow shows up, wearing a blue shirt, and Barry drops him with a .44 Magnum. More show up, Barry runs, and manages to barricade himself inside a shed. Four of the zombie-like fellows (in their matching blue shirts) pick up a 5th and use his head as a battering ram. Meanwhile Derek, a rather bloodthirsty sort (a clean-shaven Peter Jackson), is hammering a bayonet through the foot of the captured "alien" (a bearded Peter Jackson), who screams. This summons the other drones, who grab omnipresent sledgehammers and rush into the forrest at the foot of the hill. Derek is swarmed and nearly killed, but he has an Uzi, and a highly entertaining habit of making machine-gun noises with his mouth while shooting them. Tee-hee! Sadly, Derek falls several hundred feet, cracking his skull open. Frank and Ozzy, the other two members of AIDS ("we need a new acronym, fellas!") in their muscle car, show up. Also, a religious donations ("BREAD") collector shows up in the deserted town is grabbed by the zombie-fellows. The collector is introduced to the human-hungry leader of the zombie-guys (they are actually aliens, but they are kinda like zombie-aliens, kinda) who reveals his plan to sell human flesh as intergalatic fast-food, through Crumbs Crunchy Delight Organization. Their base is a massive house on a hill, which the three stalwart commandos soon assault. And pretty much, the rest of the movie is slapstick action, tongue planted firmly in cheek. I'm not going to do the normal blow-by-blow recap, but simply say this: It has chainsaws. Machine-guns. Machetes. Inhumane headbutting of a seagull. Exploding sheep. Severed heads. Severed arms. Sledgehammers. A bizarre cameo by The Beatles (sort of). A human roasting pig. Alien buttocks. Peter Jackson vomiting green bile (fortunately looking less like homemade pesto than chunky green pudding) into a bowl which is then consumed by the aliens. Rocket Propelled Grenades. [RPG! Sorry. -Ed.] Bad hair-metal. Astro-turf. A shattered skull held together with a belt. Brain scavenging. Peter Jackson knows the "1st act gun" rule. Gratuitous defenestration through automatic fire (granted, not quite as gratuitous as the scene in Predator, but I forgive Jackson, knowing that the budget was $11,000). And two lines of dialogue which are forever imprinted in my brain: "I'm a Derek! Derek's don't run." and "Jeez, I hope we're in time to save the world." Look, I know I constantly groan about how after a long week of reading mediocre and unfilmable scripts, I just want a cinematic "greasy cheeseburger" on a Friday night. And to drag out the analogy, a lot of the flicks we've covered were just that. Haunted Palace? A good, greasy burger, from In & Out Burger or a Sonic Drive Through. The Resurrected? Roy Rogers, or Wendy's. Eyes of Fire? One of those scary looking truck-stops or greasy spoons that makes a surprisingly good, and fresh-tasting, burger. Forever Evil? Well, as said before, it's really Taco Bell, so maybe it doesn't quite count... but it could also be called a Rally's or Carl Jr's burger (and fries). The Sentinel? Burger King's double bacon cheese burger, with onion rings. Tombs of the Blind Dead? McDonalds, but on a day when you really want McDonalds, as opposed to those days when you are on the highway and it's the only food for 80 miles. And Bad Taste? Well, that's an Omaha Steak hamburger cooked by an angry cook, and served with love and a glass of 99c wine, that you eat in your pajamas on a Friday night. In other words? Fuckin' Great. [return] |