Thursday, January 28, 2016



Director: Fabrice Lambot
Writers: Nicanor Loreti, German Val, Jean Depelley and Fabrice Lambot

Starring: James Horan, Lance Henriksen, Erin Brown

Don’tcha hate it when a movie choice that seems like an ace in the hole misses said hole by two motherfuckin’ miles? “Rated R for Strong Violence and Gore, Sexual Content, Nudity, Language and Brief Drug Use”!? Sounds like my kinda fuckin’ movie: trashy and artistically worthless. Sadly, the movie in question is Final Spawn, a flick that should have been aborted before it was conceived. But it wasn’t and our cinematic universe is still recovering from the blow.
     Hookers are being found raped and mutilated in some unknown city. On the case is corrupt cop Sean Fallon (James Horan), a hard drinkin’, hard smokin’, coke snortin’ detective who sells guns on the side. Through his investigation he discovered that the perp might be the last of a race of monsters who is looking for fertile women to impregnate and carry on the race. Will Fallon be able to stop him before dying of a coke overdose or alcoholic seizure—or, ya know, before other hookers are raped and killed?
     To say Final Spawn is crap would be an understatement. Let’s go ahead and get the good outta the way: Sean Fallon. I enjoyed the character, mainly because I enjoy the flick Filth and Fallon reminds me of a dollar store version of Bruce Robertson.
          I’ll also give the film credit for some decent effects. The guts look good as does the blood, but blood and guts alone do not make a worthwhile film. There needs to be some meat to hold it all together. Unfortunately, this film is on a strict
Look at that expression of suicidal sadness!
vegetarian diet.
     Okay, okay, there was a scene where a hooker dances for her john. But that’s fuckin’ it, okay? Nothing more.
     The film looks like it was shot on the first digital camera ever made: every time the camera moves the picture freaks out. It was seriously starting to give me a fuckin’ headache. And the editing is so damn choppy that I’m pretty sure it could be accused of having killed Vic Morrow and the evidence would hold up in court. And the production values were probably found in an abandoned shed and covered in mold. The acting is pretty shite, as is to be expected, even on the part of Lance Henriksen who plays Charlie, a gangster confined to a wheelchair. I can guaran-goddamn-tee you Henriksen only agreed to act in this if he didn’t have to walk around. “This script sucks. The pay sucks too but I have rent. Tell you what: I’ll star in your little shitty movie if I don’t have to walk around. Shit, just saying my lines is going to require enough effort, don’t wanna use any more than I have to.”
     Okay okay, so I’m being a little hard on a low budget film. But you know what? When I’ve seen films that were filmed for practically nothing come out looking and playing better than this piece of shit, so what do you expect? Am I just supposed to sit back and go, “Oh well, it’s low budget. Why should I expect anything from a low budget picture?” Fuck that: I have my standards, as low as they may be, and I expect them to be met!
     Okay, rant over.
     Anyways, the film seems to think what it contains is worth showing off because the fucking thing drags on and on and on. I’m talkin’ legless turtle pace. It seemed like I was checking the remaining runtime every ten seconds, praying to the Cinematic Gods to hurry this fucker up—“Bring on the closing credit sequence! I’ve got better shit to do!” But no, it just wants to take its time going about nothing, and more of the same. “But at least you get some cool monster action, right?” HELL NO! At best, you get to see a shadow and someone being dragged away. You don’t even see the monster until the last twenty minutes of the film—which happens to be the exact time you find out where the film’s entire budget went. Admittedly the monster design is decent, but you can still tell it’s just an anorexic dude in a rubber suit. Or maybe dressed in painted garbage bags. Fuck if I know, fuck if I care. (Side note: there is one scene early in the film when we catch a brief glimpse of the monster while he rapes a women. I shit you not it looks like a dude dressed in a gimp suit. I’m guessing he got lost on his way to an S&M party and wound up in Final Spawn.)
     Straight up, I’d rather listen to an album of power ballads three times in a row than watch Final Spawn again. There’s nothing to recommend here—unless you’re a masochist and enjoy torturing yourself. If a friend wants you to watch this flick not only do you tell them no, but you exorcise that friend from your circle. They ain’t right in the head.
James Horan is hunting for a better movie to star in.

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