The audience had to be a hoot. A packed house, I presume?
Right before the previews began, I was all alone in a massive theater. Suddenly, three people popped in, and the one dude who thought it would be funny to ramble on throughout the film picked my fucking row, five seats down. But as he was a 6’5″ black guy with arms shaped like tree trunks, I refrained from my usual heroics. Interestingly enough, that same guy asked me how I liked the movie as we were walking out, and I responded, “Pretty bad, although it was nice to see Paris Hilton get killed.” He chuckled, and then added, deadpan, “Yeah, but I’d rather see Amityville Horror. At least that’s based on a true story.” Before I corrected him, I glanced at the arms once more and walked silently back to the car, where I wept for a good five minutes. Fine, I roared with a sense of superiority and arrogance, but only after starting the engine.
Paris Hilton gets killed? That’s fine and dandy, but does she get naked?
First, the killing. Hilton’s empty little pumpkin is skewered by a pole after she runs screaming through the night in a bra and panties. Her tits looked bigger than I ever remember, but they were stupidly covered up. Before she’s murdered, however, she does perform a striptease for her boyfriend, who is, (gasp), a Negro! And she makes out with him for a good 1/3 of the time she’s on-screen! Perhaps the producers forgot they’d have to open this film in the South to make their money back.
But I’ve heard she’s the best thing about the movie. Is that true?
Perhaps, for at the very least, she has fewer lines of dialogue than any other member of the cast. She screams and panics with competence, but I didn’t believe for one moment that she wouldn’t blow that one hillbilly in order to escape. And with several extreme close-ups, I learned how greasy that bitch really is.
Only a house of wax? Is there really nothing else?
Actually, the entire town of Ambrose is wax, including the residents! Yep, each and every person is a brainless waxwork without intelligence, will, or individuality. It’s the closest we’ll ever get to a documentary about Crawford, Texas.
So who’s running this creepy backwater town?
Two brothers; one of whom is named Bo, while the other, creepier guy is Vincent. From his first scene, I couldn’t place the guy, but when the light hit him a certain way, he was strikingly similar to Glenn Danzig, at least without the sideburns. Anyway, Vincent was the deformed half of Siamese twins, and his pain (and mother’s death from a brain tumor) led him to murder hundreds of folks, cover them in wax, and create an entire town for his amusement. Bo, on the other hand, is the public face of Ambrose, and he runs around keeping up appearances. When needed, he kills unsuspecting tourists and brings them back to Vincent. I’m not sure how they pay their massive electric bill, but these two guys seem to be pretty comfortable, considering the sugar mill closed shop ten years earlier.
Vincent is a sinister madman with mommy issues? Christ, I suppose he has a lair?
Wouldn’t you know it, there is a lair, and what a lair it is! There are crazy gadgets, wires of all kinds, sparks a-plenty, and several furnaces that spit flame and hot wax. There are at least two big scenes in the lair, the best being a fight sequence that starts the chain of events that eventually leads to the house melting to the ground. But not before Vincent chases the two surviving characters through the mansion with a massive knife. The last chick even manages to knock the mask off Vincent’s face, which reveals the cruel deformity mentioned earlier. And in a direct link to Friday the 13th, the girl tries to reason with Vincent, slowing him down with kind words and what passes for compassion. He pauses briefly, gives her that Jason-like head tilt, yet still leaps forward with murder in his heart.
Only two characters survive? How did the others die?
One guy is decapitated, which is cool because he continues to blink for a good three seconds. Another guy has his Achilles’ Tendon slashed from below before he is slaughtered like a sweet lamb, and the black dude who fucked Paris got knifed in the neck. Nothing too exciting, but everyone got what they deserved. Especially the black guy who thinks he can deflower our white women.
Wait a second, back up — did you say there was a hillbilly? What’s his angle?
The toothless half-wit who we are led to believe is the killer is actually the third brother, only he’s reduced to the lucrative job of cleaning up road kill and taking the mess to a local dump. But, as he says, “What’s still fresh I use as meat.” Of course, this freak is treated like shit by every character he meets, but in the end, he’s the only innocent man left in the town. As such, this just might be the first motion picture to feature a redneck that wasn’t carving up Yankees in his basement. Still, there is a direct connection made between leaving the main highway and brutal, painful death. It will be a dark day indeed when rural America gets a fair shake from the snooty, big city Hollywood types.
Fine, it’s just another Dead Teenager Movie, but did you have any fun?
As a rule, I love watching teenagers get roasted, beaten, disemboweled, and raked over hot coals, so yes, I had fun watching these young lives breathe their last. As I never thought I’d live to see Paris Hilton brutally murdered with her tits hanging out, I can’t complain with any sincerity. The whole thing was mean-spirited, callous, sick, and depraved, so naturally I applaud the effort.
Will there be a sequel?
Let’s see — two survivors, a final shot of the third brother with a look that practically screams, “I have a hankerin’ to pick up where my kin dun left off”…………….Yup, it’s a done deal.