Bikini Bloodbath Christmas eh? Where to begin?
Director Jonathan Gorman and Thomas Edward Seymour’s final part in the Bikini Bloodbath trilogy thankfully draws to its end.
The plot begins in an American head shop which marks itself out from the competition by having its staff of woman dress in bikinis to sell the products. The film feels its important to differentiate one of the women by the fact she has very large breasts. We know they think its important because a sizeable amount (no really, no pun intended, I would never waste a pun on this “film”) of time is spent observing them.
The head shop is run by some pantomime queen I have already forgotten the name of. He/she/it is played by some barrel-gutted male who is clearly having a much better time in the film than any of the girls playing his bikini clad staff.
Anyway, the drag queen character calls one of the women who is clearly not fat, fat. He refers to her as pregnant and as a sow. Its deeply offensive on every level. They’re all told to step up their game and sell more drugs paraphernalia, which they do over a long, drawn-out, bikini-centric montage.
After this sequence and a few more jokes about the large breasted woman’s breasts and the not-fat girl’s fatness we move on to a trio of girlfriends walking through the park, one of which is clearly a survivor of previous films and is telling them about a killer chef who must’ve stalked them previously.
As they stumble through their dialogue they also stumble into a graveyard. We know this because, despite it being plainly obvious from all the graves and stage-mist, the film felt the need to put the word “CEMETERY” up on screen.There they meet a cabal of witches who said that one of them had to sleep with a dead man. At that point the previously mentioned survivor girl starts to bleed at the vagina.
It was at this point I switch the fucking thing off.
I have no idea which simple-minded hooligan wall-headbutter had hoovered up enough coke to think this film was a good idea but they need to stop whatever they are doing now. Seriously pal, you must be like a Dyson, just huffing up powder like a super-charged Dirt Devil (do they make Dirt Devils anymore?). Stop taking all the cracks and bongs, god knows its got enough people in the public eye into trouble regardless of whether they remember what they did on it or not. You evidently aren’t earning the kind of coin Dennis Hopper was making when he was off his face freebasing horse, you’re just making this rubbish.
Let me talk to you for a moment about depression. I have depression, its awful. I know it might sound like whining, but it can make even the slightest of setbacks seem devastating. Imagine a pebble dropping in a pond; to most people the pebble makes pebble-sized ripples, ones that can easily be dealt with that aren’t insurmountable. To someone with depression that same pebble makes disproportionate ripples the size of tidal waves that inspire terror and the impression that they are indeed insurmountable.
This “film” is worse than depression. This “film” makes my depression seem better because I will never, ever, sink this low. Sadly this “film” also makes my depression worse because its makes me realise that this world can produce such awful humans. Osama Bin Laden. George W. Bush. Saddam Hussain. Hitler. Somewhere below them are the people who made this “film”.
Let me talk to you for a moment about poo. You know, that waste product that comes out of all animals, usually the anus, generally in the form of an incredibly foul smelling dark brown paste. Have you ever had poo forced into your eyes, ears, nostrils and mouth, all at once? Lets up the stakes. Not just poo, but highly compacted poo that is so dense that there are no air-holes. Absolutely no way not to suck it into your lungs in place of the rich air, clean, not-poo air they so desire. Just excrement.
This is a “film” which will, against every sense you have right now, make that seem like a preferred option.That’s how revolting on every moral level this “film” is.
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| Classy it ain’t |
I think I had a breakdown watching this.
“This isn’t a proper review” some of you might say. “You didn’t even watch it, you’re just talking about depression and poo”. I genuinely went into this film with the attitude of “I will watch this film so others don’t have to”. And do you know what? I went into ThanksKilling with the same attitude. And do you know what as well? I royally enjoyed ThanksKilling; it was low budget and deliberately bad and knowing about the genre.
So yes, it is a proper review. And as you’ve probably gathered by now, what I’m inferring is that this “film” is so bad it is actually unwatchable. Bare in mind that before this I just watched Silent Night, Deadly Night part 2 quite happily and thought it had some very decent moments. I’m that forgiving. Whatever this expanse of celluloid is, this accumulation of some minutes of filmed misogyny combined, I’ve gone into it with a very open mind.
This though, this thing…god knows. I could eat raw film stock and dispensed a better movie.
I sure as Hell didn’t make my way all the way through it. In a way I blame ThanksKilling for giving me a false security, that no-budget horrors could be witty and entertaining. All it did was set me up to be stabbed in the back.
Let me talk to you for a moment about misogyny. Many, many, many horror films acknowledge the long associated misogyny of the slasher film and attempt to legitimize it by making ‘knowing references’ to it. They do so however with the use of scantily clad women which also clearly serve the the ends of the very point which they hypocritically claim to be sending up.
This film isn’t even clever enough to use satire as a means to satisfy what its satirizing. Its just a man in drag and a load of women with their boobs out, at least for the amount of time I watched the film. If there is an inner misogynist in me then even he feels deeply insulted by this tits-n’-no blood by-product.
And that’s before we get to a character’s vagina bleeding because its suggested she might have to have sex with a dead man. What the hell is that? This is a almost a sex crime of a movie.
On a personal level I believe that something that insults women should insult right-minded men to the same degree. Bikini Bloodbath Christmas however has challenged that ideal mindset of mine. I cringe to imagine what a woman would think of this. I certainly would not blame them if they wished to wage a war upon all men such is the revolting mindset of this “film”.
Everyone involved in Bikini Bloodbath Christmas, shame is heaped upon you. How could you sully yourselves with this horse bollocks? How could you affront both sexes so grievously? The mind reels in delirium as to what it took for so many women to get their breasts out for this “film”. You certainly weren’t paid much money and you must’ve been aware you were getting no exposure. If not, then your stupidity can in some way account for the contents of the “film”. Either way I despise this “film” and probably everyone involved in its production. It is an affront to decency.. It is less than sickness.
I just despair.
Follow RJ Bayley on Twitter: @RJBayley
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