Bad Movies Beware!
Finally got to one that has been in my Netflix queue for a while. This one looked like it would suck just from the cover, but I figured I’d endure it anyway since that’s what I do.
Anyway, I got about 30 seconds into this movie before I realized that, when it comes to cinematic intestinal dysfunction, Dreamaniac is a shart.
Alan has a dream one night about a beautiful woman, so he decides to bring her to the real world using black magic. That evening his girlfriend, Pat, is throwing a party at the house that he is house sitting. The guests show up, including the mysterious Lily, who happens to be Alan’s dream girl.
The party is as wild as it gets, with drinking, drugs, bridge, charades and sex that is about as awkward as the moment you realize you just shot a nugget into your shorts while standing in the middle of Best Buy on the day after Thanksgiving.
After about twenty minutes of this montage of eye-clawing boredom Lily begins to kill people using tricks she must have learned from Wyle E. Coyote. One guy, for example, is tied to a pole with wire and electrocuted while wearing only his whitey-tighties.
I mention this because the homosexual overtones in this movie are blatant and not as “Oh, NOW I get it!” as the second Nightmare on Elm Street movie.
Lily possesses Alan, and they both carve and hack their way through the party guests one by one until only Pat and her sister remain. Pat decapitates Alan with a portable power drill, and Lily is just about to hack Pat and her sister to pieces when the men in white show up and chastise Lily for escaping the mental institution. They leave with her, apologizing to Pat and hoping that she did not cause too many problems.
Cut to an office where a “sleazy” Hollywood writer is reading the rest of the script to someone on the phone. Yes. The whole movie was just an indie film. While he is stewing over what to call his newest tour de sewage Lily appears and butchers him, splattering blood on the script and covering up most of the word “Succubus.”
Only “Suc” is visible, which about sums up the whole movie.
This movie was bad, even for an indie flick. If the campy over-dramatic acting wasn’t bad enough, the plot just got weaker and weaker as the torture dragged on.
This movie was so bad that they actually(pointlessly) put a couple in bed post(or pre) coitus on the cover because they knew that the only thing that would sell it was sex. And yet, they couldn’t even do THAT right in the movie!
All of the girls in the movie were dressed in over-the-top 80’s glam, and all of the guys were dressed like pretty-boys ready for a night at the Birdcage.
From the time the credits hit the screen to the sound of a keyboard being played by the Phantom of the Opera’s mentally disabled stepbrother to the moment the end credits rolled I felt like I had done something horrible to deserve an early trip to Hell.
I would rather have my colon cleaned out by furious demonic crawdads while having my face beaten in by rabid sheep with dis-associative anger disorder than watch this movie again.