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Vampires
(NO STARS!!!)

 

 

STARRING: James Woods, Daniel Baldwin, Maximilian Schell

DIRECTED BY: John Carpenter

John Carpenters’ VAMPIRES could have used it’s own infusion of blood! Could this movie suck more (no pun intended)? No siree Bob!

It used to be you saw a big name star attached to a movie and you could say, "Oh, this must be quality because he/she (meaning male or female—not a transvestite) would never do mediocre movies. He/she has more taste than that, and studies a script before agreeing to do it." Well, ponder again dear reader.

Here's my tried and true trust 'em at the cinema" lot: Al Pacino, Bobby DeNiro, John Turturro, Meryl Streep, Holly Hunter, Kevin Spacey and one James Woods.

Well, Jimmy’s outta the Club! He has been irrevocably tossed! His name has been unceremoniously etched out of my mind. Due to his name being attached to this lame-o-rama flick, I rushed out on opening night wading through the crowds, sitting amongst the farting-popcorn shoveling- gothic patchouli smelling minions of horror fans thinking; vampires! James Woods! It just can’t fail. Never say can’t. I was dead wrong. This movie was so bad I basically ate through the whole thing like Human Iguanadon! .

The plot (and I use that term it its lowest definition, think See and Say) in a coffin shell: An ancient cross hidden by monks that holds the key to the meanest Vamps ruling the world—or some such nonsense. It's gone done got itsself missing! Yeah, the plot sucks but who goes to vampire movies for plot? Though, I do demand a certain caliber of Vampire; males should be out-of-this-world erotic, well-dressed, and uber classy with just a hint of a Transylvanian accent that gently rolls off the tongue; females should be sexy, well-groomed and clean looking. The bimbo in this looked like she had festering sores on her vagina—appalling! So no one had his or her fantasies exercised in this execrable flick.

The vampire extras looked less like vampires and more like Bob Fosse dancers on loan from Calvin Klein. I really expected a chorus line to break out any second when they were on film.

James (I’m Lookin’ Like Calista Flockhart) Woods, who was so exceptionally thin in this he made Calvin Klein's model stable look "hefty" plays the rough, mean, unloved, vampire slayer. He and his posse (who all look like they’re in this country without green cards) go around re-snuffing out the undead.

Woods has so many recurring shots so similar in style, they actually look like stock footage. It became quite humorous after like the third shot of Jimbo walking towards a door (any door) with his shotgun thrown over his shoulder, sunglasses on, toothpick in his mouth, and a patterned smirk pressed across his wirey lips, ala Walking Tall circa 1972. Bitte schön! He looked more like an Rolling Stone member sauntering over to the celery and heroin buffet, than a head vampire killer.

They cast the chubby Baldwin brother in this one too. Daniel "I Gotta Eat" Baldwin, appears pre-detox and rather puffy. The poor baby was huffin’ and puffin’ and sweatin’ on the 101 degree Southwestern sets like Michael Jackson at a Boy Scout jamboree. Danny can actually act though—you can’t judge him from this bludgeoned carcass of a movie. However, there is tip-a-roo for "plus size" actors: if you’re meaty beaty big and bouncy with a deluge of sweat on your over stuffed epidermis please don’t eat on camera. Baldwin continually troughs —Gross Out City! I didn't’t know a Baldwin could actually be unattractive, believing it genetically impossible—once again, I was wrong em boyo!

The head vampire was OK. I mean you’re automatically cool if you’re a vampire, but with all the hunks in Hollywood they could have found a studlier neck-sucker than this guy. He was well-dressed, but hormone-wise, he was no Frank Langella (Dracula 1979). Frankie L, now that was a vampire. He had money, he could dance, he lived in a trendy castle and didn’t mind if the furniture was dusty. Daylight-shmaylight! The Frankster could convince you that giving up the day for dark eternity was all worth it—just to be side by side with him in a comfy designer coffin built for two.

Let’s talk soundtrack now. John Carpenter also did the music. Tah! On what? His portable Cassio organ? It must have been in his contract. Danny Elfman he ain’t. I actually left this gawd awful flick and snuck into Bride of Chuckie. At least this movie knew it was silly and campy—though, I laughed harder at Vampires, I was not supposed to Mr. Woods! You owe me 8.50 and 3.00 for the rental I got on the way home to remind myself of your (usual) greatness.

SNACK RECOMMENDATION: Skip the movie, rent Salvador and whip up some angel hair pasta with roasted garlic. Heavy on the garlic.

 

 

 

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