Having just seen The Vampire Starfighter in IGOG 3D, the most recent and desperate attempt at directorial survival by Queequeg L. M. K-I-S-S-I-N-G Shamarintino-Nolan… I hardly know what to write about it. This gem came in at a whopping three and half billion — that’s with a “b” — dollars. For the very first time I’m almost at a loss for words as regards what a repugnant experience seeing a film, this film, truly was.
Calling this movie bad is an insult to movies. In fact, it’s an insult to badness. In fact, it’s an insult to the very seats in the screening room where I saw this garbage heap. I feel badly for insulting you by asking you to read this deliberately insulting review of an insult to the art of film-making. Meaning this terrible movie! I’m truly sorry!
I hate this movie. I hated, hated, hated, hated it. Hated, hate, hate-y, hated, hate, hate-y, hate-y, hated this film. They say that only haters hate, and that haters are always going to hate. Then sign me up as a hater — of this very film. And I’m always going to hate it, too.
I cannot recommend it.
As I was watching The Vampire Starfighter in utter disbelief of the sheer, utter and foul awfulness of what I was witnessing on the movie screen, I found myself longing to have the projectionist rewind the entire thing, playing the experience backwards not only until those now-treasured moments before the time of the presentation’s start but, also, before I had proceeded into the venue door, before I had been sent a press packet promoting this movie, prior to the period in time before the thing was produced, written, or conceived in some sickness-filled mind…
…and before that — back, back, magically transporting us all back to those terrifying-yet-promising eons at the dawn of mankind’s ability to develop what we would later call “narrative skills”: before the Ages of Bronze and Iron, prior to our having developed the powers even of notation or speech, before we had descended lemur-like from the prehistoric vegetation. Those were difficult years for our species’ very survival. Wow, how I really disliked this movie.
If someone you know or, worse, happen to love, insists on your attending The Vampire Starfighter with them, here’s what I’d recommend with all gravity –this will take some doing, but, trust me, it’s going to be well worth it if you have no prior criminal arrest record of any real consequence:
Buy yourself five to ten bottles, or an entire case if need be, of the very cheapest damned whiskey that’s available to you for purchase — buy it cheap, indeed, so that, in case the babysitter cancels, or some other Act of a Merciful God transpires, then you won’t be out much money for having made this noble effort. Prior to leaving your home, before going out to the show, remove all of your clothing (women may not have to go quite that far, perhaps, in the successful execution of this scheme, and only stripping to your undergarments will be essential. We don’t want to take this thing too far). Okay, that’s Step One.
Now, then: Step Two of my most-urged plan is this… begin consuming the cheap liquor you’ve bought on my recommendation just as fast as you physically can, as much as you can humanly hold, until you’re practically blind with intoxication. Then, minding the traffic in your town or city as much as possible, leave your abode on foot, and proceed walking down the sidewalk. Have previously written on an office index card, in case you cannot easily remember them in your now fully-inebriated state, these phrases:
“The police are bastards! The police are a lot of dumbass and steroidal bastards! My eye sockets! The deadly wasps! My eye sockets!”
Remember to yell the above-counseled as loudly and as often as you can. The more you yell it, the more someone is likely to become alarmed. It should not be too long by the clock, in your nude and poisoned state, for the authorities to be alerted, and for you to be locked up in your municipal “drunk tank” … or, should a Wise Providence and good fortune provide for it, a local psychiatric institution, and up to maybe a week. And that, my friend, should be just long enough (at the least a week or two if you can also remember to verbally and personally insult your local night jurist) to get you off of the streets and entirely unable to attend The Vampire Starfighter. It can’t possibly be showing anywhere for longer than that crucial one to two week period, it just can’t.
Then, it will be up to you, of course, to use your technical savvy to block this title when it begins showing right away on your local cable television.
The Vampire Starfigher was so bad I shudder to even call where I saw it a ‘room’ let alone a “screening room”! More like a “trash-inema” if such a thing exists. Yeah, in fact, that’s a name I’ve now just invented because of this awful movie. “Trash-inema!” You figure it out. In all, I say Thumbs Down.