Bad Movie Night #1: Pandemic
November 21st, 2009 | Danny Methane | Uncategorized | 1 Comment »I’ve never done one of these before, I swear. So I’m going to break down this movie and tell you how shitty it is.
Hokay,
So I went to the movie rental place with my hetero life-mate, Silent Job;
and we were both kind of in the mood to watch a zombie flick. The normal choices: Of The Dead series, 28 series and the Resident Evil were out, since I own all of them. We decided to try and find an indy flick that would be just so low budget that it might have just worked. We sifted through tons of movies that sounded like they would be at least NOT shitty.
Obviously shitty ones included but were not limited to:
And (sorry Georgie)
Don’t even get me started on Zombie Strippers.
As we’re walking along the “Wall-o-fuck-ton-o-movies” my eye is caught (presumably by a phantom fish hook) by this flashy cover.
Now, it is reasonable to assume that, based on this cover, this movie will be about a virus or sickness that has adverse effects on people. One could also deduce that this movie has something that needs to be shot, based on the sheer number of military/civilians on the cover.
You would be fuck-stickily dissapointed.
Not one fucking zombie. Not so much as a dead twitch or even a mere feeling of suspense. There is one fucking scary part in this entire fucking movie. It was like wathcing the Paris Hilton sex tape, except I didn’t have a boner. Nothing about this movie makes any goddamn sense.
A rancher comes back in from a day of, suspectedly, raping the horse he’s walking back to the stable. Not riding, walking. Then his blood vessels swell up, his blood becomes an even DARKER red, and he bleeds out of his nose. And mouth. And eyes. And presumably his asshole, but one cannot rule out Horse Cockin Sydrome.
Cut to a woman in her late twenties that is supposed to be attractive, but you’d get more sexual arousal out of a cactus. Turns out, she’s a veteranerian, which comes in to play later in the movie.
Gets a call from a frantic horse owner named Spenser, says someone did something to his lovely Chloe or something like that. I have reason to believe he was into beastiality as well. Seems to be something in the water in Diablo County New Mexico, and I do put the emphasis on BLO.
Spenser freaks out, conspiracy theorizes, and then shoots his horse.
The vet, Dr. Stevens, sees a news bit about a rancer with exploded blood vessels and storms into the coroners office and demands to see the body. The coroner is nothing if not polite and quite easily and nonchalantly breaks doctor-patient protocol. The vet, who has probably only read about viruses in books that were written when small pox was all the craze, goes prodding around in the ranchers mouth and comes to the one and only absolutely logical conclusion.
“It’s ebola.”
Mind you, she only has a paper mask and a thin layer of latex gloves on and she’s prodding around like his blood is as harmless as a snack-pack.
They call the CDC after the vet rules out Rocky Mounted Spotted Fever, The Marburg and Motaba viruses, and genital herpes. About thirty minutes later, soldiers show up in stereo typical humvees and fuck shit up, as soldiers do.
General Matthews tells Dr. Stevens to fuck off and die. He tells her he’s “helping humanity.” To which she smugly replies, “Oh yeah? Well, I’m a veterenarian.”
Yeah, she just “Bones’d” that mother fucker.
Nothing happens.
Nothing happens.
Spenser hides in Dr. Stevens’ house, finds out he’s a lunatic, “The government wouldn’t test this on innocent civilians” she says, makes her go on the run with him. They get caught by the military.
Turns out, Spenser is General Matthews’ son. Turns out, Spenser was right about it being a military test. Turns out, no one cared.
Matthews’ slips Stevens the biological warfare version of a roofie, and she later dies out side of the quarantine zone, and it’s covered up as a car accident.
The news on the TV then goes on to report that goats and humans in Afghanistan have begun to die of a mysterious virus that makes blood-vessels explode, confirming once and for all that the military is really out to get us.
Cut to: A scene of a lonely dog in a neckerchief walking along an interstate as if he’s hitch hiking whilst we here a small kid, “Dad! Can we pick him up? PLEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASE?
They pull over, let the dog in. The door closes. The dog looks out the window. The camera closes in on his left eye, and the blood vessels pop.
Sequel? I sure hope the fuck not.
This movie made my eyes want to bleed like they have never bled before. (They haven’t.)
In hindsight, this probably would have been a better zombie flick (though nothing on the front of the box leads you on that it would be so in any way shape or form):
Zombies with tribal armband tattoos.
