Wednesday, September 1, 2010

MEMORIAL VALLEY MASSACRE (1988) - Americans chug beer as a means of honoring our soldiers, and occasionaly an unprovoked slaughter breaks out

Here is the entire damn movie in one clip on Youtube. I guess no one wants to claim the copyright on the film. That's a potentially bad omen.

Creationists are not one to concern themselves with “facts” and “reality” and “deduction”, and cling to the belief that man and monkey never had a common ancestor. Of course, you could show them fossils, but they’ll just say that “god put them there to trick people”. Well isn’t that fucking convenient. Let me ask you this…do you have fossils to prove that god left fossils around just to mess with people? Well…shush it then.

It looks like we’ll have to show each and every one of these knuckleheads living proof of a missing link. You know, like the Encino Man (or Pauly Shore). Since that movie fucking blows, I’ll instead choose to discuss Memorial Valley Massacre. If we could only get VHS copies of this epic (or the above clip to the ones with a computer), about a teenage caveman type that kills a bunch of hoseheads that intrude on his campground, to creationists the world over, we can finally shut these retards up once and for all.


The Memorial Valley Campground is a hot bed of camping and fun now that it’s Memorial Day weekend. The mulletheads all have their styrofoam coolers stocked with beer, their tape decks cocked and loaded with some Ratt, and their community college degrees are put on hold. Cameron fucking Mitchell, the reigning owner, is not overly alarmed when he finds a German shepherd hogtied at the bottom of a well, on top of a host of other issues. Just like Jaws, this tourist trap must go on, as a bunch of horny teenagers standing on mounds of dirt while drinking beer is somehow a cash cow. I have no idea how this works, but then again, I fell flat on my face during economics class.

This teenage caveman is just a regular 20 year old dude who wears Manowar style fur and some dimestore fake teeth. He sorta looks like what would happen if Joan Crawford was raped by Trog (from the movie Trog, of course), and she had the baby, only to set it free in the wild wearing a fur diaper. He seems to be pretty upset that a bunch of hoseheads are desecrating his sacred homeland with their beer cans and unholy boom boxes. Particularly insufferable is the fat fuck on an ATV, sort of a way more annoying and slightly gayer version of Francis from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. At one point, his parents are looking for him, and ask the hot poseur metal chick if she has seen their precious Francis. “He’s probably out in the woods humping Bambi”, she replies. He wishes he could get some action, animated or otherwise. There’s also a token black couple among all of the usual half shirt jocks, leather girls, and frizzy haired queenies. Not a single one of these jerkoffs have even a modicum of respect for anything except pounding brewskis and popping brain cells. Admittedly, I find the film lacking as the faux-slasher it intends to be. The one bright spot is that you get to hang out on a campground with these knucklehead teens, what with their clothes and hair and smartass quips and righteous rawk boxes blaring fist pumping epics.

Encino boy lives off the land, catching critters in traps and hiding in tree tops, like some sort of goofball Tarzan. He also sets a clothesline trap for the fat fuck on the ATV and eventually snaps his neck. Thank Christ this guy was offed first. I probably would’ve tried to lobotomize myself with a spork if forced to watch Francis ascend to final girl status. There is also a subplot with the mature and sensitive son of Cameron wanting to screw some pretty hot chick. This leads to a truly noodle wrecking love synth theme whenever they pop on screen, along with the other sub-casio synth that rots the soundtrack. Sometimes technology can fall into the wrong hands.

They find Francis’ fat dead annoying body, and Cameron’s son wants to call the police, as he is the only character with a modicum of sense. For some reason, the campground manager angrily rips the phone out of the socket. I guess even dead bodies aren’t going to disrupt this weekend, as the campground desperately needs the business. The next day, he tells everyone that a bear was responsible. Yeah, blame the nice bear. Whatta bunch of racial profiling bullshit. One guy who isn't afraid of this situation is the supposed bad ass that wears a leather jacket and a sleeveless eagle shirt, and also carries a piece. That is a loose cannon that shouldn’t be finagled with, bear or caveman or otherwise. Still, I bet Cameron Mitchell could take him, even at his advanced age and obvious drunkedness. Fucking Cameron Mitchell rocks, even to the point of trumping sleeveless eagle shirts.

here is a clip from Jerry Warren's magnum opus Frankenstein Island, showcasing Cameron in one of his most unheralded roles

Well, as you might imagine, all the main characters up to this point get together to look for this bear, only to split up and get offed by Encino boy and his traps. One particular surefire method that works for him is the “wooden spikes at the bottom of a pit” trap. If you want kill somebody, just dig a gigantic ditch and stick some sharpened branches into the floor, and they will explore the area and fall in and get impaled to shit. That is some clever survivalist stuff right there. At one point, Encino gets bored and finds the poseur metal chick and starts rubbing her like he's squeezing toothpaste out of a tube, before killing her. Who can blame him really. I mean the toothpaste part.

The ending is supposed to elicit pathos, when we learn that the caveman is a son of one of the other characters. I guess we’re supposed to believe that he was forced to kill on account of his mom and dad not showing him enough affection. Tell you what, if the lack of love from your parents drives you to become a psychotic missing link, don’t murder every stranger that wanders near you, KILL YOUR FUCKING PARENTS. The Menendez brothers, for all their faults, at least got that right. Also, it’s no excuse to run around in a fur diaper, covered in dirt. How about you take a fucking shower. Goddamn hippies.

No comments:

Post a Comment