Tuesday, February 14, 2012

HONEYMOON HORROR (1982) - true love is snuffed out like a candle while a worthless cop eats cheeseburgers and shrugs his shoulders

Some couple owns one of those honeymoon hideaway businesses, where young newlyweds pay good money to boink in a cabin. Husband Frank finds his wife Elaine doing the deed with someone not named Frank (ruh-roh). A manly tussle ensues, and Frank stumbles into some fire, becoming a jilted husband flambĂ©. Elaine remarries the guy she actually wants to have sex with (besides, Frank is now a crispy freak that is presumed dead) and takes over the the family biz for the time being (with the aid of “Crazy Joe” and a fake cockney maid). However, she is trying to sell the business in order to distance herself from her previous life. Some women are resigned to suffering through loveless marriages while serving annoying customers, but it looks like lady luck has come to Elaine's rescue.

Three girls show up (wearing super ultra short shorts) in order to scarily dress up the room of a freshly married sorority sister. To think there was a time when regular shorts had only a sliver more material than the booty shorts of today. Anyway, this "practical joke" setup impressively involves streamers and cardboard skeletons, not to mention a fake cockney maid corpse that falls out of a closet (the corpse is real; it's her accent that's fake). An unseen assailant shows up and ruins their surprise party, taking an axe to the supple sorority sisters. I guess this asshole doesn't want to be upstaged in the "jump scare" department.

The next morning, the sheriff gets a report about three girls missing, but just dismisses it by scratching his ass. We are then introduced to three couples, and Elaine explains that Crazy Joe will fetch whatever they want, but to keep in mind that "he is retarded and can't speak". I quote that without judging, mind you. We all have our problems. God knows I have mine. Either way, I guess Crazy Joe will have to pick up the slack, now that there is no longer a fake Cockney maid on staff, ready to throw together some imposter crumpets on a moment’s notice.

One hubby has an argument with his wife, so he decides to pump iron outside while she takes a shower. Some crispy schmuck manages to sneak by him, giving his new wife a pretty sweet shower axing. He then sets fire to the docks, and the fat ass sheriff is rudely interrupted about this development (while smoking a cigar and eating a cheeseburger, no less). He reluctantly has to deploy some men to actually do their fucking jobs, amounting to possibly checking out the situation over the next few days if they get around to it or whatever. The aggravation of having to get up off of his greasy posterior drives captain porky to hit the bottle, washing down his failure in the process (not to mention the cheeseburger).


Of course, the group starts to think that Crazy Joe may be the killer, not realizing that a mad slasher is not built on mere retardation alone. The killer is indeed Frank, the jilted toasty freak that was the obvious perp from the beginning. Frank lays the hammer down (quite literally) during an awesome final showdown, where the remaining group is holed up together in the main house, trying to keep this sly, resourceful hack machine from ruining an already shitty collective honeymoon.

The next morning, our courageous sheriff carts his heroic ass to the honeymoon island, constantly bitching the whole time. After a pseudo twist ending, another couple shows up, asking the sheriff for directions to the cabin resort. Like the useless slab of bacon he is, he yells at them, chews on his cigar, and fires some warning shots. Even the basics of human interaction elude him, preferring to fall back on his six shooter as his only form of communication with a shackled populace. Punk muthafucka with a badge and a gun, indeed.

P.S. Consider this review a celebration of sorts for Valentine's Day. Happy Valentine's Day!

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