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Neill Cumpston’s Written The Only GRINDHOUSE Review You Ever Need To Read!!

Hey, everyone. ”Moriarty” here. Y’know, the really scary part of running Neill’s reviews is that I am starting to understand the way he thinks. Having seen GRINDHOUSE on Friday night, this pretty much sums up my reaction. Sure, he expresses himself a little more... colorfully... but this pretty much says it all, and it says it exactly how it needs to be said. I completely agree with his spoilers, by the way. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the only GRINDHOUSE review that matters...


Remember, when George W. Bush was elected, and he said that thing about how, by 2008, we’d have “movies that would explode in our balls like a shotgun filled with handjobs”? Well, that promise came true two days ago when I saw GRINDHOUSE in Hollywood. Except not only was it a shotgun full of handjobs exploding in my balls, but also my balls suddenly knew how to make fire using karate. All from seeing GRINDHOUSE, a movie that’s made of screaming car crash zombie boobs. It isn’t even a movie – it’s TWO movies with some trailers and stuff at the beginning, and also between the movies. The directors – more about them in a second (there’s TWO!) – wanted to recreate the way movies were back in the 1920’s, when you could sell a script that was one page that just said, “TITS THEN A MONSTER THEN MORE TITS THEN AN EXPLOSION THEN BONUS TITS” and everyone knew what you were talking about. Also, there’s zombies getting killed by a helicopter, which is not only cool to look at, but shows how the movie-makers did some research, to make things realistic. First off, the movie lets you know you’re going to get your poop kicked out of you, formed into a set of brass knuckles, and now here comes a poop-punch. Because they show a trailer for a movie I need to see RIGHT NOW with my eyes (I already saw it in my head when I was driving last week and Van Halen’s “Panama” came on the radio and I’d just started eating a Payday). It’s called MACHETE, and it’s got that Mexican guy who’s always in movies where there’s people who really need knives stuck into them, and he’s always, “Here, let’s get those knives in you”. Danny something. Whatever his last name is, he should change it to, “Fuck-a-dilly” because everyone says that automatic when they see him, because he’s going to bring the fuck-a-dilly to the movie, which will probably involve a foot, a face, and foot-face-fuckup. Also, Cheech from Cheech and The Chong is in the trailer, and he’s a priest and he’s shooting people, which is ironic, I think. Then the first movie starts. It’s called PLANET OF TERROR, and it’s about a planet (which looks a lot like Earth) that’s made of pure terror. Here’s how shit-scream terrorizing it is: there’s these mutated kill-monsters, but even BEFORE they show up there’s all this fucking terror. Like a doctor who wants to kill his doctor wife, and the doctor wife is always sticking these three needles into people which fucks them up, and there’s a sheriff who’s played by that Reese guy from TERMINATOR robot. The sheriff looks like he’s always going to kill someone by crushing a bunch of walnuts in his mouth and spitting the shells through their skull. So, there’s a lot of shit like that, plus Fergie’s cleave, some bar-b-q, bad parenting, Bruce Willis turning into a monster, and Rose McGowan with a machine gun for a leg. I’ve never seen a woman I wanted so bad to rub one out to, but also kind of killed my boner in a way that gave me a bigger boner. Oh yeah, she almost-nude dances for the first three minutes of the movie and even though she doesn’t get totally naked I need to go buy three extra PAUSE buttons for my remote by the time the DVD comes out.

Rose McGowan will make you cluster-spooge in your pants.

PLANET OF TERROR is directed by Robert Rodriquez, which is all I need to say. In fact, instead of his name on poster saying, “Directed By”, he can legally change his name to a picture of a naked Viking woman on a snowmobile with flamethrowers out the back and the flamethrowers are killing a Yeti. That’s the level of guaranteed quality his name brings to stuff. Then there’s three other trailers – one by Rob Zombie that involves Nazis and werewolves (more factual research), one by Edgar Wright that made me laugh harder than seeing an old man give the finger to a fat kid, and then one by Eli Roth that Eli Roth should make. Actually, the fake trailers are kind of a bummer, because I really wish they weren’t fake. Maybe the government will put some “don’t be a pussy” drug in the water supply, and everyone will go see this instead of PILLOW FIGHT AND SCENTED CANDLES AND BOREDOM, or whatever Sandra Bullock movie’s coming out, and they’ll make more of these. Then the second movie started. It’s called DEATH PROOF. You know what it isn’t-PROOF? Boner-inducing proof. This one was directed by Quentin Tarantino, who’s been an actor in stuff like RESERVOIR DOGS and PULP FICTION (he’s also in PLANET OF TERROR and DEATH PROOF). This is his first directing job and the dude KICKS ALL SPECTRUM OF ASS. He kicks ass that isn’t even in the ass area. Like, his director skills are so stripper-with-chainsaw good they make you grow asses on other parts of your body that he then kicks. I hope he directs more movies. I would see them, burn down the theater, and then call the fire department so I could tell all the fireman about what a kick-ass movie it was. When they started to attack me with axes, I’d fly away because Quentin’s movie would have given me ninja flight. DEATH PROOF is about this dude, Driver Mike, and he’s played by Kurt Plissken, and goddamn but that dude just gets more bad-ass as he gets older. You know how Sly Stallone kind of looks like Bea Arthur now, and Jean-Claude Van Damme looks like Ally Sheedy? Well, Kurt Plissken looks like a dumpster full of drop kicks. He could fuck a bulldozer into eight Mini Coopers. Fuck, I should pitch that to someone. Anyway, he’s this crazy dude who gets off by killing four girls at a time in cars. Like, he’s got this car, this death proof stunt car, and he kills women by either 1. Giving them a ride in the car, and bashing them around in this special seat so they feel like they’ve watched the PINK PANTHER remake twelve times or 2. Going all Mad Max meets Humungous head-on dead-on kill-crazy.

The title, DEATH PROOF, refers to Kurt’s car being “death proof”.


We get to see Kurt fucking up these four hotties with a car crash, but then – and this is where, if you’re with your girlfriend, she’ll realize how sensitive you are – he fucks with the wrong women, and let’s just say the audience I saw it with almost gave the ending a standing ovation. But their boners would have knocked over popcorn and sodas, so they just happy- screamed instead. First 300 and now this? I think the summer of 2007 just went, “Hey, let me take you to a free taquito buffet” and you eat all these taquitos and then the summer goes, “Here comes a foot to your stomach”, but you go, “It’s full of taquitos” but it’s too late – there’s a boot in your stomach only the boot is really a motorcycle and you puke up a bikini girl who blows you and then kills your boss with a hammer. That’s what GRINDHOUSE is. It’s a taquito buffet that you puke up after getting hit with a motorcycle, and it turns into a bikini chick that blows you and kills your boss with a hammer. Rodriguez and Tarantino probably don’t read this site, but someone should tell them they can use that last paragraph as a quick blurb.
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