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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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