It’s basically Blade Runner with Barney. And Whoopi Goldberg. And fart jokes. Lots and lots of fart jokes. Even after two viewings it still blows my mind that a mainstream film this bizarre actually exists.

Did I mention the fart jokes?

My first encounter with Theodore Rex was at the local VHS rental shop when I was a wee youngin’. My first thought while analyzing the VHS box cover art: Cool, a dinosaur! And it looks just like the dinosaurs from “Dinosaurs.” I love that show!

My second thought: Whoopi Goldberg?!

Third thought: That so-called “Rex” has FOUR digits on each hand, NOT TWO. Everyone knows a Rex has only two digits per hand.

Fourth Thought: If they overlooked that detail, what the fuck else did they fuck up?

Even at the age of 9 I could smell a turkey. After all, if it was any good how come I never saw any trailers or TV ads promoting its theatrical release?

That’s ‘cause Rex never had a theatrical release. It did so poorly in test screenings that New Line Cinema decided to dump it straight-to-video. With a budget of $33.5 million, Theodore Rex was the most expensive direct-to-video release of all time.

Whoopi Goldberg only appeared in this dino dookie of a movie under threat of legal action. When she tried to back out of the project, the producers filed a $20 million lawsuit against her. The eventual settlement only cost the producers an additional $2 million to Goldberg’s salary. It only cost Goldberg her dignity.

But Whoopi got her revenge with one of the most bland and bitter performances I’ve ever seen. To say she phones it in would be an insult to telephones everywhere. In every scene she’s in, it’s painfully obvious that she does NOT want to be there.

She’s even pissed off in scenes where she’s supposed to be happy:

I’m so happy we saved the world, Teddy. No, really! That’s just how I smile.

To add insult to injury, this court-ordered appearance won Whoopi the Razzie Award for “Worst Performance by an Actress.” And I say undeservedly so. I wouldn’t classify what she does on-screen as a ‘performance.’ That would imply she was actually performing. She spends all her screen time sulking.

The narrative of Theodore Rex is a textbook example of a screenwriter trying to cram too many ideas, too many genres and too many subplots into a single script. The result is a film in which everything is painfully underdeveloped.

The film begins with this line of text: “Once Upon a Time in the Future…”

This sets the perfect tone for a story this bizarre, conveying a sense of both fantasy and science fiction. The invocation of “Once Upon a Time” suggests that this tale takes place in an unknown, undefined future that may never actually happen.

But then they immediately fuck it all up with this opening crawl:

I thought “Once Upon a Time” means it takes place in an unspecified time. Now it takes place at a specific time – the present day. A present day in which dinosaurs once again walk the earth? Or is this an alternate present? I frankly don’t know. And after five minutes I stopped caring.

This opening crawl isn’t even necessary. It conveys information that’s revealed later on in the film. And in a more artful way I might add. (Not that anything in Theodore Rex qualifies as being artful.) If anything it spoils any sense of surprise or ambiguity that would make this movie more enjoyable. It would be like watching The Empire Strikes Back in 1980 and seeing an opening crawl like this:

We don’t need to know that Darth Vader is Luke’s father until the end of the film. And we don’t need to know that Kane is the villain until the middle of Act 2. And we sure-as-shootin’ don’t need to know about his dastardly plan before the film even starts. However, to say that this unnecessary spoiler single-handedly ruins the film would be exaggeration of the highest order.

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To those considering watching this failed attempt at horror comedy, don’t bother. To those involved in the making of this so-called film, don’t bother! Don’t bother making any more films. Don’t bother watching any more films. Don’t even bother watching YouTube.

It was written and directed by Chris Seaver, whose previous cinematic attempts include such illuminating titles as Wet Heat, Scrotal Vengeance, and Heather and Puggly Drop a Deuce. The opening credits inform us that this is “A Chris Seaver Talkie”. As opposed to “A Chris Seaver Porno”? Trust me, you do not want to know what a blood fart is.

I’m not going to summarize what happens in the movie. I’m not even going to continue writing this review. It would be a waste of your time as a reader. And I really don’t want to relive the grueling torture I endured viewing this slasher stinkeroo. I love a bad movie just as much – heck, even more – than the next guy.

But sometimes you just come across a movie so bad, so unfunny (at a Love Guru level), that to spend time writing or talking about it would be to grant it an amount of respect and attention it does not deserve. And this is coming from a critic who wrote extensive analyses of Cool as Ice and Going Overboard. It’s as if the folks behind this movie attempted to make a no-budget Friedberg/Seltzer (Epic Movie, Meet the Spartans) spoof comedy and made something even more wretched, more detestable, and more painfully and embarrassingly unfunny.

This is the Pandora’s Box of bad movies. Don’t open it, brah!

But if you want to sit through 76 minutes chock-a-block with atrocious “jokes”, a homicidal and flamboyantly-gay scarecrow, the most exhaustingly-bad overacting I have ever suffered through, and a fatso horny goth chick who spends a good chunk of the movie humping the air while screaming “Enter me!”, then be my guest. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

My Rating
-25 Blood Farts out of 5

This is an insult to “direct-to-DVD”.

(Not So) FUN FACT
Chris Seaver has taken a page from mockbuster making production company The Asylum and is currently working on a Twilight spoof titled Taintlight.

Now you’re beginning to comprehend the hell that is The Asylum’s “mockbuster” of Michael Bay’s Transformers, the bafflingly-titled Transmorphers. And yes, as hard as it is to believe, this movie is worse than Transformers 2.

This cash-grab crapfest hit video stores mere days before the theatrical release of the aforementioned first “Bayformers” flick, which means the filmmakers didn’t even have a chance to see the film they were ripping off. So they ripped off the Transformers movie trailers instead, then filled in the gaps by cribbing pretty much every decent/recent sci-fi film you can think of. What Aaron Seltzer & Jason Friedberg (Meet the Spartans, Disaster Movie) are to comedy, Transmorphers writer-director-producer-editor (it’s usually a bad sign in a B-movie when a filmmaker’s title involves so many hyphens) Leigh Scott (The Da Vinci Treasure, Snakes on a Train) is to sci-fi action. Scott’s attempts at cinema make Uwe Boll look like Ingmar Bergman.

It didn’t have to be this way. This movie’s got giant killer robots, a dorky scientist with a sexy android girlfriend, and hot twenty-something lesbians galore! All the ingredients needed to make the BEST. MOVIE. EVER. How did they fuck that up?

I’ll spare you the usual in-depth analysis, as I’m not a sado-masochist…

Oh, who am I kidding? I live for this shit.

As told in a completely unnecessary introduction read off by a dude with a phony-sounding British accent, in the far off year of 2009, the earth is invaded by robot aliens in poorly rendered polygon-shaped spaceships.

Believe it or not, these are the best effects shots of the whole movie.

The robot aliens (robaliens?) wipe out over 90% of humanity, and block out the sun… for some reason. You’d think they’d need the sun’s rays to recharge their solar cells or something.

Is this a screen shot from Transmorphers or Sim City 2000?

Transmorphers is more than just a rip-off of Michael Bay’s Transformers. It also rips off Michael Bay’s Armageddon.

After this awesomely underwhelming scene of global destruction, we’re treated to our first glimpse of an actual Transmorpher. It transforms – or should I say, “transmorphs” – from a poorly-rendered fighter jet into one of the worst CGI robots I’ve ever seen. And it only goes downhill from here.

They pretty much wasted their effects budget on an introduction that could easily have been explained away in a line or two of dialogue.

The remnants of humanity, now living underground (and made up almost exclusively of young female porn stars), plan a surprise attack against the robalien overlords. The military debriefing scene is a shamefully inept “homage” to far-superior films like Aliens and Starship Troopers. It is rife with clichéd lines like “Oh yeah, this baby’s gonna do some DAMAGE!” delivered by “actors” who look like they were just pulled off the street, or in some cases from the gutter. The characters are really underdeveloped. To call them stereotypes would be praising the screenwriter for his consistency.

The plan fails miserably, which is unsurprising considering the “plan” made little sense to begin with. And the “soldiers” have no vehicles, body armor, and in some cases, weapons. Either this future society is severely lacking in resources or the filmmakers barely had enough money to cobble this disasterpiece together. My money’s on the latter. We don’t even get to see any of the action, or any robots for that matter. All we get is bad set design, bad lighting effects, and even worse acting. When a soldier utters his dying words, “They’re changing,” we pretty much have to take his word for it.

After that exercise in lousy soldiering and even worse filmmaking, the military tribunal (made up almost entirely of MILFs) decides to thaw out criminal Warren Mitchell from Cryo-Freeze and allows him to lead them despite his criminal background. According to a Shatner-esque character I’ll refer to as Scary Cat Lady, “He’s the best… we’ve… got.”

Introducing Shaley Scott, most likely a relative of director Leigh Scott. Nepotism/acting/hair & makeup at its absolute worst.

The sexy General Van Ryberg tries to kibosh this. Mitchell’s leadership means she won’t be able to continue squandering the entire military budget on hair and makeup. They’ve been fighting a centuries-old war with almost no resources and they’re living in underground squalor – yet she looks fantastic. PLOT ALERT! After Van Ryberg sentenced Mitchell to Cryo-Freeze, she immediately seduced and married his wife!

What is it with the widespread lesbianism in this movie? Humanity’s on the brink of extinction, you’d think everyone would be concerned with increasing the population.

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Yeah, I know, that sounds like the most amazing exploitation film ever. And in the right hands, it could have been. But in the careless hands of star/producer Rudy Ray Moore (who stole the plot from a local homeless man), Dolemite is a film that’s awe-inspiring in its stupidity and disregard for basic film craft.

The tedious and overlong pre-credits sequence highlights most of the flaws afflicting this funkadelic flick. Dolemite is summoned from his prison cell to the white warden’s office. “Aww, shit! What the hell does that rat shit-eatin’ muthafuckah want wit’ me?” Doley asks eloquently. Get used to the word “motherfucker.” He uses it a lot.

The warden gives what is possibly the most drawn-out expositional speech in cinematic history, lasting almost 10 minutes! He even goes so far as to introduce Dolemite to his closest business “associate”: “You know Mama Queen Bee, I’m sure. You should be very proud of her. For damn near two years she’s been bugging me about your innocence. You know, the funny thing is, I’m starting to believe her…”

Wait, why would the warden need to introduce Dolemite to the woman who for years has managed his stable of prostitutes and white slaves? Yeah, I know the audience doesn’t know who she is or what her relationship to Dolemite is at this point, but there are literally THOUSANDS of ways of introducing her that aren’t nearly as heavy-handed! They could have hugged each other, shared a quiet smile or just about ANYTHING other than having the Warden say “Hey Dolemite, here’s your best friend and closest advisor. In case you forgot her name, it’s Queen Bee. She manages your whores. You’re a pimp.”

And the warden just drones on and ON AND ON! For almost ten minutes. The crux of the scene is that the warden has come across new evidence that suggests Dolemite may have been wrongfully convicted. What that evidence is, we’re never told. What the Warden wants Dolemite to do in order to prove his innocence, we’re never told. The filmmakers clearly have no sense of cinematic storytelling. Or of criminal law. I wasn’t aware they let convicted criminals out of prison to prove their innocence!

It’s a scene that only needed to be two minutes long. Or less. And they dragged it on for almost TEN FREAKIN’ MINUTES!

The staging for this scene isn’t even remotely interesting. It’s the same bland, repetitive “sitting talking heads” set-up. The filmmakers add variety to this sequence with the occasional continuity error. One shot, Dolemite may be sitting. The next, he’s inexplicably standing. And rifling through the warden’s filing cabinet. After five minutes, even the actors start dozing off.

Behold, a genius editor at work!

And the acting is NON-EXISTENT! For these actors, their idea of good acting begins and ends with remembering their lines. And for some of them, even that’s a stretch. You’d think they could infuse a little emotion into this scene.

Behold the vivid rainbow that is Dolemite’s emotional range:

And how do you make an unnecessarily long scene even longer? You throw in a completely unnecessary flashback!

By now we’ve already been told at least five or six times that Dolemite was framed for “possession of stolen furs and a half a million dollars’ worth of narcotics”. Now we get to see it, playing out pretty much exactly as I imagined it (albeit with much worse acting).

Two pushy white cops (all white cops in this movie are evil) demand a looky-loo in the trunk of Doley’s Cadillac pimpmobile. They discover (to the surprise of no one, not even Dolemite) stolen furs and a half million dollars’ worth of narcotics. I have no idea how they ascertain that the furs are stolen. Or how they manage to get this evidence to hold up in court, especially when the search was conducted without either Dolemite’s consent or a search warrant.

Doley’s defence: “Dat shit ain’t mine. I don’ know how it got there.” Moore’s acting is so unconvincing that his character comes across as having been arrested so many times he’s given up on convincing alibis. When the cracker cops try to place him under arrest, Dolemite spazzes out with a battle cry of “Yo GON’ HAFTA TAKE ME!” He then opens up a can of Pimp-fu on the cops, displaying some of the worst fight choreography my eyes have ever been subjected to. Even my own crappy karate moves in the Fun Time Internet video Hondo’s Cars look professional in comparison.

It’s a sad day for cinema when yours truly can truthfully claim to be a better fighter and fight choreographer than people who actually got paid for such “expertise.” I love how the fatso on the left just stands there and watches his buddy get his ass kicked!

In one section of the fight, Doley kicks a fat dude who is supposed to fall into the pimpmobile trunk. Instead he appears to willfully jump into the trunk. Wheeee!

Dolemite’s black and white outfit represents the hope for harmony between Brothers and Honkys. Either that, or Rudy Ray Moore’s deplorable fashion sense.

The cracker pigs eventually get the drop on Doley, as Detective White (what a racist move, screenwriter, identifying him solely by his skin color!) scoffs, “Well goodbye, BOY! You’re off to a long, loooooong vacation.” To which our eloquent “hero” retorts, “I gots yo boy hangin’, you no-business, born-insecure junk-jawed mutha-FUCKA!”

What the heck does that even mean? Is that even an insult? It seems Dolemite’s idea of telling people off is to list off the first five or six random words that come to mind, yell “motherfucker,” and hope it all works out in the end. It never does. If I was Detective White, I’d feel more bemused than schooled.

Turns out these crooked cracker cops be workin’ for the pimp Willie Green, Dolemite’s greatest arch-nemesis (not counting Whitey). You’d think this reveal would be the perfect time to jump into the opening credits and the story proper. And you’d be right. It’s the perfect time to get the movie rolling along. Unfortunately you didn’t write the screenplay to this movie and neither did I. Instead, we’re sent back to the warden’s office, where all the momentum of this revelation is completely derailed by the warden’s further exposition. If hell is other people, then those other people are the “actors” in this scene.

After a couple more minutes of excruciating expository dialogue and bland mis-en-scene, we’re treated to another unnecessary flashback, this time courtesy of Queen Bee: “Some gang killed yo nephew t’other day. He was comin’ home t’other day. Jus’ him and his girlfriend. And they wasn’t botherin’ nobody.” Now the screen goes all wavy and fades out like we’re going into a dream sequence or a flashback of the far past. Why didn’t they do that with the first flashback? If anything the first flashback needed it more since it took place two years in the past. This one only happened “t’other day” as Queen Bee so eloquently stated. Is a little consistency too much to ask for?

After an overlong and uninteresting sequence showing the shooting of Dolemite’s nephew, the only thing this jive-talkin’ wordsmith can say (after a long and awkward pause) is, “So they killed lil’ Jimmy?” Obviously! Was Dolemite paying attention to anything ANYONE said? Or was he too busy thinking up another “motherfucker” comeback? “Dat’s right,” answers Queenie, “He was jus’ walkin’ home from school and he wasn’t botherin’ nobody. Jus’ him and his girl.” I’m guessing, from my own experience, that the screenwriter fell asleep in a drunken stupor mid-scene (possibly even mid-sentence), woke up late the next day with a massive hangover, and finished writing the scene in a furious frenzy, without bothering to re-read what he’d written prior to passing out. I’m also guessing the screenwriter didn’t bother writing a second draft. Or even to proofread for that matter.

After the ten most painful minutes of my life, we’re finally “treated” to a Shaft-inspired opening credits sequence, featuring various “action” shots of our tubby hero.

Fornicatin’ wit’ women. Killin’ Whitey. Fornicatin’ some more. All with a disinterested look on his face. There’s just no pleasin’ this man!

This is the only part of the film that could even remotely be considered competent. And it’s all accompanied by a rousing funkadelic theme song that exaggerates roly-poly Doley’s strength and virility. And it’s even performed by the man himself:

“Some folks say Willie Green
Was the baddest muthafuckah the world ever seen
But I wants y’all hol’ ontah yo seats, hol’ ontah dem tight
(I’m guessing the next verse will rhyme with ‘Solemite’)
‘Cause now get ready to see the story of me, YES ME, the badass DOLEMITE!”

The song’s chorus then repeats the phrase “He’s bad” over and over again. Which is a pretty apt overall description of the quality of this film.

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]]> http://funtimeinternet.com/linkgo/2009/lackluster-video-dolemite-1975/feed/ 1 http://funtimeinternet.com/linkgo/2009/lackluster-video-death-bed-the-bed-that-eats-1977/ http://funtimeinternet.com/linkgo/2009/lackluster-video-death-bed-the-bed-that-eats-1977/#comments Wed, 24 Jun 2009 19:46:13 +0000 Bo Swidersky http://funtimeinternet.com/?p=479 I’ve seen some cinematic stinkers in my day. I’ve seen floating disembodied brains battle for world supremacy in The Brain from the Planet Arous. I’ve seen robots with human brains fight undead Mexicans in Robot vs. The Aztec Mummy. I’ve even seen something called Killer Condom. But I’ve never seen anything to prepare me for the surreal experience that is Death Bed: The Bed That Eats.

Yes, you read correctly. That’s the actual title to an actual film. Someone actually thought this was a worthwhile idea for a movie. That visionary man is George Barry.

Unfortunately, Barry’s horrific vision of a bed that eats people was lost for almost 30 years, having never secured theatrical distribution. It wasn’t until 2003 that the auteur’s lost “masterpiece” finally reached its bed-fearing audience to become the most long-unawaited DVD release of all time. On the DVD’s introduction Barry claims he’d completely forgotten about this film. A little hard to believe considering it’s the only credit on his IMDb page.

The man banked his entire film career on something called Death Bed: The Bed That Eats.

As you’ve already gleaned from its brilliantly explanatory title, Death Bed: The Bed That Eats is about a bed… that eats. But this ain’t no lovable talking bed à la Cherry, the lovable talking chair from “Pee-Wee’s Playhouse.” This is an evil bed, the offspring of a tree demon and an innocent maiden who died the moment she laid eyes on him (moments before he laid her – ewww). The maiden’s family then placed the mysterious bed in their mansion to raise as their own. But the bed had other plans. Evil plans. People-eating plans. I swear I’m not making this up.

The film opens with the poorly recorded sound of someone loudly munching on an apple played against darkness. As the crunching gets louder we hear the additional “ominous” sounds of rhythmic thumping on hollow steel and cheesy sci-fi “laser” effects. This attempt at establishing a spooky mood is more confusing than scary and lasts well over a minute.

Right as I’m about to give up on this movie, we fade in on an old abandoned mansion. Cue a sound library thunderclap. The camera pans across an old bedroom. Cue sound library snoring noises. We pass an ominous old large bed. This is Death Bed! And it’s asleep! Death Bed: The Bed That Sleeps?

We’re then introduced to a young bland unnamed couple that, if you’ve seen any teen horror film, will unsurprisingly fall victim to the title killer within the next ten minutes. They’ve come across the mansion after hiking several miles in the woods. We know they’ve traveled a long distance because their dialogue keeps repeating this fact over and over again ad nauseum. The girl senses a great evil in this place and wants to turn back. The guy, being the true romantic that he is, pressures her into spending the night at the creepy house so he can fondle her boobs. The couple conveniently finds their way into the same room as Death Bed and start making out on it. Why the girl would be willing to make out on this icky musty bed is quite beyond me. But then again, who am I to expect believability in a movie titled Death Bed: The Bed That Eats?

The girl complains that she’s hungry. Fortunately, the guy brought along two apples, a bottle of wine and a bucket of generic fried chicken. They make out some more, completely unaware of the white soapy foam coming up from the bed and surrounding the apples.

We then get a shot of the apples dissolving INSIDE DEATH BED’S STOMACH, which looks like a cross between deep-frying oil and lemon Gatorade.

Accompanying this shot is the familiar sound effect of someone munching an apple. But how can Death Bed make munching sounds IF IT DOESN’T HAVE ANY TEETH? The half-eaten apples then return to the surface of the bed with the obvious signs of being eaten by someone with teeth.

Death Bed then gobbles down the entire bucket of chicken and chugs the whole bottle of wine in a similar fashion.

Get used to that yellow screen, you’ll be seeing a LOT more of it.

The bottle of wine and the bucket of chicken return to the surface of the bed completely unscathed, despite having been submerged in an acid-like substance.

Don’t worry kids. You’re safe. Pork away, the bed’s had its fill.

Or has it?

The couple soon discovers all their food eaten. Unconcerned, they start making out again. Then off goes the girl’s top. And on go the guy’s hands to her boobs. Then the bizarre white bubbling foam and confusing laser sounds reappear. But they’re too busy groping and being groped to notice. Then the giant old bed’s heavy curtains close in on them. Probably to represent that it’s CURTAINS FOR THEM! There’s no bad pun or sight gag that’s too taboo for a movie like Death Bed: The Bed That Eats.

And that’s when the screaming and bloodletting begins.

I may have seemed wholly dismissive of that opening sequence, but to be completely honest, it was AWESOME! It had blood. It had gratuitous nudity. It had a bed that eats people! It was exactly the kind of campy horror/humor and inept filmmaking I expect from a film with such a ludicrous title. Unfortunately, the movie then quickly veers in a completely wrong direction, from an idiotic twist on the slasher genre to a serious attempt at a supernatural thriller.

The most obvious problem is the film’s narrator, a nineteenth century artist and Death Bed victim, who for reasons unknown, was brought back from the dead by Death Bed and hidden behind a painting of Death Bed, in order to keep Death Bed company. Despite being unable to talk to anyone in the bedroom, again for reasons unknown, the Artist is somehow able to communicate only with Death Bed. The Artist fills us in on Death Bed’s origins (the tree demon and the maiden) and reflects on past Death Bed victims. The attempt to explain Death Bed strips away all the mystery and the fun of the film’s concept. We don’t care how Death Bed came to be. All we need to know is that it’s a bed that eats people. We don’t want the how or the why; we just want to see it eat clueless young people.

That said, there are some truly hilarious moments in the flashback sequences:

Death Bed: a history in spinning newspapers. Notice how the bottom byline and all the photos are the exact same in every paper!

A priest falls victim to Death Bed. The look on his face is priceless.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say this bed was tryin’ to eat me.”

Death Bed targets an old woman. And speaking of newspaper jokes…

The story proper involves three young women staying at the old mansion. Why they’re there is unimportant. All we need to know is that at least two of them are going to be eaten by the bed that eats.

The death of the first friend, Sharon, is surprisingly well handled. She decides to have a nap, while the others decide to be outside for some reason. In this scene Death Bed comes across as a pervy psycho killer as we hear it panting and drooling in anticipation while she changes into her pajamas (in a voice sounding suspiciously like the Artist). When she’s finally asleep, Death Bed violently strips her naked and uses her crucifix chain necklace as a saw to slit her throat!!! Needless to say, this is one of the most inventive on-screen deaths I’ve ever seen.

As the friends return, Death Bed eats Sharon’s suitcase to make it look like she ran away. It turns out that one of the surviving girls is somehow the key to destroying Death Bed. We know this because the narrator explicitly says so. And because Death Bed has internal bleeding every time she touches it. Good thing Sharon packed a bottle of Pepto-Bismol in her suitcase.

Later on, the brother of the last surviving girl inexplicably shows up to rescue her, only to have his hands eaten off by Death Bed. This scene features what is quite possibly the worst acting I have ever seen. Just look at the bemused look on his face.

I know he’s supposed to come off as a tough guy, but he’s having the flesh eaten right off his hands! No screams. No flinches. He could at least say “ouch!”

I’m not going to explain how Death Bed is finally defeated, as I barely understand the narrator’s explanation of it all. Let’s just say it involves teleportation, a naked zombie chick and lots and lots of fire.

This film suffers from uneven tone and pacing. The sound design is embarrassing and the acting is monotone at best. The tacked-origin story, undead narrator, and supernatural elements ruin what could have been an enjoyable and sublimely stupid parody of slasher films. If only it had just stuck to what made the first two death scenes so effective -Death Bed as an impractical and immobile pervert killer. Instead of showing us several victims over several decades, writer/director George Barry should have stuck to one group of young male and female victims à la Friday the 13^th, Halloween or pretty much ANY successful horror movie franchise. Sure that formula is cliché, but it wouldn’t be cliché if it didn’t work really, really well.

That said, I’m grateful we’ll never have to suffer through an unending string of sequels (Death Bed 2: Die, Death Bed! Die!, Death Bed 3: Death to Death Bed, Death Bed 4: The Death of Death Bed) or rip-offs (Death Toaster: The Toaster That Burns, Death Crib: The Crib That Eats Babies).

Maybe I’m looking into this too deeply. Should I really have expected greatness from something titled Death Bed: The Bed That Eats?

My Score

½ bottle of Pepto-Bismol out of 5.

But you’ll need a whole bottle to stomach this mess.

FUN FACT
The film’s worst actor is also its only actor to actually have a long-running film and TV career. Rusty Russ (now William Russ), who played the handless brother, went on to play Corey’s dad on “Boy Meets World.”

I had sky-high expectations when I borrowed a battered VHS copy of Game of Death from my local public library. The ad copy on the tape case promised me the world – “swift and deadly kung fu revenge”, “[a] movie all Bruce Lee fans will want to see again and again.” But what really sold me were two words: “Chuck Norris.” I immediately scooped it up, mistaking it for Return of the Dragon, the only movie in which Lee and Norris officially co-star. Return famously features a 17-minute fight between Norris and Lee in the Roman Coliseum, widely regarded as one of the best martial arts duels in movie history. What I got instead was one of the most shamelessly bad cash-ins in movie history. Once again I’ve been foiled by ad copy!

Game of Death begins promisingly enough. We see the words “A Golden Harvest Presentation” flash across the screen. The Golden Harvest name is usually a mark of martial arts quality. The Hong Kong production company is responsible for many early Sammo Hung and Jackie Chan films, as well as the live action Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles trilogy.

We’re then treated to a majestic and heart-pumping opening theme, recalling the brawny yet elegant soundtrack to the James Bond film You Only Live Twice. In fact, this movie’s soundtrack is composed by none other than John Barry, who’s provided the music for most of OO7’s outings. The opening titles are awe-inspiring, incorporating footage of Bruce Lee with iconography of ancient board games and games of chance. This imagery matches the music perfectly, building up the expectation of a film of Connery-Bond quality. These titles are as good as anything Maurice Binder produced in his many James Bond opening titles. The high point is when a slot machine rains down coins on Lee in a golden shower!

Then the film opens right in the middle of a fight between Lee and Chuck Norris. This is how they choose to start the movie? You’d think it could only go downhill from here, and you’d be absolutely right. Turns out they just recycled fight footage from Return of the Dragon for this scene. The recycled footage is of a different grain than the rest of the film and the editing is slipshod at best. As the fight ends, we find out that this is just a movie studio set (they used the actual Coliseum in Return) and Norris and Lee’s characters are just actors. Or should I say, when Norris and Lee stop fighting, they’re replaced with obvious stand-ins. What the hell just happened?

Bruce Lee died of cerebral edema in 1973, having shot over 100 minutes of fighting footage for his passion project, The Game of Death. His was a very different Game of Death, short on story, high on action, and intended as a showcase for his martial art style of Jeet Kune Do. The unfinished film was to focus on Lee’s character fighting his way through a five-level pagoda encountering a different “level boss” specializing in a different martial art on each floor. This formula would later serve as the story model for every platform-based videogame of the ‘80s and ‘90s.

Following Lee’s untimely death, fan demand to see this unfinished film reached a fever pitch. Unfortunately Golden Harvest misplaced some of the footage and what fans got instead was a sloppy chop-socky suck fest incorporating only 11 minutes of Lee’s intended movie.

For about 90% of this new Game of Death, the “Bruce Lee” character is played by three different stand-ins and a very fake looking cardboard cut out of Lee. The stand-ins spend most of the movie wearing ridiculous disguises to hide the fact that they look nothing like Bruce Lee – oversized sunglasses, motorcycle helmets with dark visors, and a variety of fake-looking beards. Many scenes insert brief close-up shots of the real Lee cannibalized from previous films, which are painfully obvious due to their numerous scratches and lower quality film grain. It’s as if director Robert Clouse (Enter the Dragon) went to the Ed Wood School of Filmmaking.

This film’s story, if you could even call it that, focuses on a Bruce Lee-clone movie martial artist battling a greedy Hong Kong syndicate. When “Bruce Lee” refuses to co-operate with the crooks, they stage an “accident” at the movie set during the filming of a scene in which his on-screen character is shot. Having replaced the blanks in the gun with live rounds, “Bruce Lee” is seriously wounded. This scene eerily mirrors the tragic death of Bruce’s son Brandon Lee, who was accidentally fatally shot on the set of The Crow in 1993. And it makes this movie all the more tasteless. Why don’t they throw in actual footage of Bruce Lee’s funeral while they’re at it? They do.

But “Bruce Lee” is secretly still alive. The bullet only wounded his face and the resulting secret plastic surgery conveniently explains his “new face.” The three bland stand-ins and their cardboard cutout sidekick then set out on a poorly-shot-and-edited rampage of revenge. But then in the final act, the real Bruce Lee suddenly shows up and starts kicking some real ass. The scenes from the original unfinished Game of Death are the only saving grace of this kung fu stinkeroo. Lee fights a nunchucks expert in an exciting scene that was later parodied in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie.

He then goes on to battle none other than basketball superstar Kareem Abdul-Jabbar! The height difference between these two combatants makes for one of the most bizarre duels in movie history.

Yet as excellent as these scenes are, they only serve to remind viewers that Bruce Lee – the real Bruce Lee – had a far superior film in mind. Robert Clouse’s Game of Death is a tasteless, offensive, insensitive attempt to cash in on the tragic death of a superstar. The VHS box was wrong. Bruce Lee fans will not want to see this film “again and again.” That’s like telling Peter Sellers fans they’ll want to see the Steve Martin version of The Pink Panther again and again. There’s only one Peter Sellers. And there’s only one Bruce Lee. Accept no imitation.

My Rating:
0 Flying Dragon Kicks out of 5—A worthless, artless cash-grab. This is not a tribute to Bruce Lee. It is an insult.

FUN FACTS
The same yellow and black tracksuit that Bruce Lee (the real Bruce Lee) wears in the film’s finale is worn by Uma Thurman in Kill Bill Volume 1.

This was the final film for actor Gig Young, who played the exposition-heavy “Jim Marshall.” He would later play his own “game of death,” committing suicide.

1970s moviegoers were just as fooled by Game of Death’s clever ad copy as I was. The film was a box office success, spawning a cottage industry of “Bruce Lee” sequels and knockoffs, including Goodbye Bruce Lee: His Last Game of Death, The New Game of Death, Enter the Game of Death, The True Game of Death, and Game of Death II: Tower of Death.

With all these things going for it, how could this film not be a critical and financial success? I’ve got five words for ya: John Wayne is Genghis Khan.

In one of the most head-scratchingly bizarre casting decisions ever, Hollywood’s consummate cowboy, the All-American conservative tough guy, is thrust into the role of the iconic Asian military genius. He tackles this part with the same intensity that made his Westerns so famous. By which I mean he plays the part exactly like he was in a Western, complete with his famous ambling swagger and syntax-defying cowboy drawl. Remember how I mentioned the Shakespearean dialogue? Wayne’s often-parodied delivery butchers such eloquent lines as “Ya di’nt suckle me ta be slain by Tartars, my mo-ther” and “Ah ree-gret that Ah cannot sal-ute ya as I would, ber-eft of spit.” Or my personal favourite, “Shaaare the booooty!” Wayne’s quintessentially American performance unintentionally transforms this serious-minded action epic into an instant comedy classic.

But at least he looks Asian, right?

Of course he looks Asian. He has a “Fu Manchu” mustache. All Asians have “Fu Manchu” mustaches. At least they do in all American movies.

At least the other actors make an attempt to look somewhat foreign…

They managed to make Mexican actor Pedro Armendariz look even more Mexican. I guess the make-up people were happy just as long as he didn’t look white.

Okay, but actress Susan Hayward looks authentic, right?

‘Cause we all know 12th-century Mongolian women had red-permed hair and the eyes and bone structure of white women.

Are there any actual Asians in this film? I watched it three times, and counted only two. And of the two, only one had any dialogue. A single line of dialogue. Something about asking the Khan if he was satisfied with his meal. He wasn’t. Nothin’ says authentic Asian culture and history quite like white folks in embarrassingly bad makeup reinforcing embarrassingly-bad stereotypes.

This film begins with young Genghis Khan (referred to as Temujin throughout) raiding a caravan to kidnap Bortai (Susan Hayward), the daughter of the Tartar chieftain Kumlek, his father’s murderer. The first thing Temujin does after capturing Bortai is to rip off her dress and hand it to her intended fiancé as a “souvenir.” I think I’m going to like this movie!

Most of the movie dwells on their fire-and-ice relationship. A typical scene begins with Temujin drunkenly demanding something like, “Dance Tartar-woman! Dance for Temujin!” To which she retorts something like, “I don’t dance for jackals.” To which he responds by carrying her off into his tent, declaring something like, “Know this, Tartar woman, I take you for wife.” To which she utters another angry retort, which is often answered with a bitch-slap and a rape scene. But of course she “had it coming.” This is the 1950s after all. This scene repeats itself again and again. That’s pretty much the whole movie.

The Conqueror AKA Rape: A Love Story

There’s also a completely unnecessary (but much appreciated) seven-minute dance sequence halfway through the film involving scantily clad women.

So these dancers are from exotic lands. Does that make them Exotic Dancers? Does THIS answer your question?

During this burlesque routine Temujin slyly asks Bortai if she’d be into a threesome with the dancer. When Bortai refuses to answer, he suggests she’s jealous of the dancer’s physical and sexual prowess. True to form, Bortai responds by ripping off her top and performing an even sexier dance routine. The man who wrote this deserves a medal.

Of course Bortai manages to incorporate a sword into this routine, which, after inducing Temujin into a randy state, she hurls at him in a failed attempt to kill her rapist.

Temujin responds, unsurprisingly, by violently manhandling her and ordering her to be sent to the “women’s quarters,” which in this palace would more accurately be described as the “harem.”

Eventually the Tartars raid the Mongol camp and take Temujin prisoner. The filmmakers use some extremely unsubtle methods to turn the rapist Temujin into a Christ-like figure.

Genghis Christ?

To the surprise of no one Bortai betrays her people, sets Temujin free, and helps him conquer most of the Asian continent. Why you ask? I’d venture to guess the reasoning is one part Stockholm Syndrome and two parts Battered Wife Syndrome. Either way, it’s pretty obvious a man with serious woman issues wrote this script.

“Temujin has escaped!” “I told ya we shoulda put more than two walls on this cage!”

Even without John Wayne’s hilariously inappropriate performance this film would still be a disaster. The overall look and feel of the movie is incongruously Western-esque. All of the action sequences are shot using the same conventions as a cowboy film. The Mongol raid on the Tartar caravan in the film’s opening looks more like a band of “Injuns” attacking a wagon train of white settlers than a scene from a lavish historical epic. Filling in for the steppes of Mongolia are the very familiar mountains of Utah. The very sight of these flat-topped peaks immediately conjures up images of the American West. The film never feels culturally, historically, ethnically, or geographically authentic for a moment.

The Conqueror’s Utah shooting location is also the source of great controversy and tragedy. The shooting location was contaminated by nuclear fallout from a nearby nuclear testing site. After location shooting finished, producer Howard Hughes ordered truckloads of radioactive soil from the area to be transported back to Hollywood to match the interior shots. Of the film’s 220 cast and crew members 91 contracted cancer and half succumbed to the disease, including John Wayne, Susan Hayward, Lee Van Cleef, director Dick Powell, and Pedro Armendariz (who committed suicide shortly after completing work on From Russia with Love). These figures don’t include the several hundred Native Americans who served as extras. (That’s right, Hollywood tried to pass Native Americans off as Asians, a practice that would prove more fruitful in Cannibal! The Musical.)

Sure, they laugh now. But wait’ll they find out they’re drinking contaminated water. Irony 1, Mongols 0.

Howard Hughes later pulled the film from theatres and bought all the prints in an effort to destroy it. A film so bad it killed John Wayne and the studio tried to destroy it.

The great irony of it all is that John Wayne literally pulled the movie’s script out of a garbage can after Dick Powell discarded it and demanded the director make the film starring him. Wayne wasn’t blackmailed into wearing the silly ‘stache and uttering those ludicrous lines. He practically spearheaded the whole debacle.

The Conqueror is a prime example of how even the best intentions, the biggest talent, and the biggest budget can combine to create the perfect shit-storm of failure. This movie is a train wreck to be sure, but it’s a well-made, entertaining, and often hilarious train wreck.

My Rating
Technical/Artistic Rating: 2 Truckloads of Radioactive Soil out of 5

Pure Entertainment Rating: 3½ Silly Mustaches out of 5

BONUS FEATURES
It seems Hollywood didn’t learn any lessons from John Wayne’s embarrassing example. In the 1990s white ponytailed action star Steven Seagal attempted to produce and star in his passion project, Genghis Khan. Fortunately a Mafia extortion ring put an end to an even worse cinematic crime against humanity. Thank you, organized crime.

As an extra special bonus feature here’s Germany’s answer to ABBA, Dschinghis Khan (German for Genghis Khan) performing their epic Eurovision hit “Genghis Khan.” This song is HUGE in Korea!