lot like another Marshall film, especially in the action and dynamic between the tough guys. The major misstep is the casting of Steadman, who doesn’t have the physical pres- ence to sell her role as someone tough enough to enter a war zone by herself. Barker also fumbles with a Hollywood climax: too much exposition, an unnecessary twist and some obligatory explosions. Black Sun is a lesser sequel but still worth tracking


down – and you’ll certainly have to. Distributor Mongrel Media has an excellent reputation for its international dra- mas and seemingly zero interest in its horror acquisitions. So why do they bother?


DAVE ALEXANDER


Overlooked, Forgotten and Dismissed Red Noses for Blue Ladies


THIS ISSUE: LANCE TASTES THE TEARS OF A CLOWN


DEAD CLOWNS Cryptkeeper Films


Coulrophobia is defined as the fear of clowns, and it’s a very real and quite prevalent phobia throughout the world. So there are probably a lot of you out there who’ll agree that the best kind of clown is a dead clown. Fitting, as Dead Clowns happens to be the title of this flick about a seaside town that’s being terrorized by a bunch of zombie clowns during a hurricane. Low on laughs, this is a dark film with some good gore, which features scream queens Brinke Stevens (Demon Sex) and Debbie Rochon (Bikini Bloodbath) doing their best


not to be ripped apart by these bestial bozos. It’s kind of like The Fog, but with big red noses and floppy shoes. BODY COUNT: 11 CLOWN COUNT: 14


Die Laughing


CLOWN HUNT MVD Visual


This one’s for those of you who’d rather kill clowns than run away from ’em. Clown Hunt follows a bunch of good ol’ boys who travel to a secluded Texas ranch to drink a few beers and bag a few clowns. Sounds weird, but in this film it’s completely legal to hunt clowns, but only during “Silly Season,” and you can only kill the happy ones – mimes and sad clowns are still off limits. It may be low-budget, but the film works because of a tight script and terrific actors who play their parts with deadpan seriousness, even when gutting


their prey or spying on clown mating rituals. A fun romp to be sure, and it finally answers the question of why we don’t eat clown meat: because it tastes funny! BODY COUNT: 29 CLOWN COUNT: 72


Mockery of Justice


KILLJOY GOES TO HELL Full Moon Features


Twelve years and three sequels later, Full Moon’s clown prince, Killjoy, is back, but this time, instead of being summoned by some loser out for revenge, he’s been called forth by the Devil himself to stand trial for not being evil enough. This is the second Killjoy sequel produced by Charles Band, and the legendary schlockmeister has helped give it a more professional look. The sets, cos- tumes, lighting and dialogue are pro enough, even if the movie’s subplot about a couple of detectives trying to solve Killjoy’s previous murders is a little


pedantic and banal. Reminiscent of early Full Moon films, Killjoy Goes to Hell is a good, goofy fun, and Canuck director John Lechago (Blood Gnome) is a guy to watch out for... in the good way. BODY COUNT: 4 CLOWN COUNT: 16


LAST CHANCE LANCE RM38 C I N E M A C A B R E


HOW TO LOSE FRIENDS AND ALIENATE LEPERS


MARK OF THE BEAST Starring Debbie Rochon, Ellen Muth and Dick Boland


Directed by Jonathan Gorman and Thomas Edward Seymour Written by Thomas Edward Seymour and Sheri Lynn Blood Bath Pictures


Mark of the Beast can be viewed as either a) an explo-


ration of the dehumanizing effect of blind group loyalty, or b) a handy step-by-step guide to taking home the gold if the Olympic Committee ever sanctions an official Turd in the Punchbowl competition. Here is a brief outline for those


playing the latter along at home: first get so hideously wasted at a New Year’s Eve party that your fellow revellers appear tempted to follow up “Auld Lang Syne” with “Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye.” Then, while being es- corted home along a wooded path, stub a cigar out on the sa- cred shrine of the “beast monkey god,” which the local sheriff explicitly warned you not to in- sult, thereby inciting a silver-skinned, faceless leper to at- tack. Finally, surrender to the rabid animalism of your shiny new mystical curse, grunting, growling and biting acquain- tances even as they capture and torture said leper to save your world-class dickwad soul. Voila – the pedestal awaits! Though generally faithful to the 1890 Rudyard Kipling tale


it is based upon, Mark of the Beast transports the action from a North Indian British colonial outpost to a nameless rural North American village. Merely a matter of budget? Perhaps. An amalgam of Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and An American Werewolf in London does sound like a pricey proposition. But the shift also suits the filmmakers’ obvious desire to update the parable about the persistence of pri- mal, reactionary darkness for an age that overestimates its own refinement. For example, Kipling chose not to detail the torture of the leper (“This part is not to be printed”), while the film, in an unsubtle nod to widely broadcast, vis- ceral post-9/11 horrors, is not so demure. Dreamlike cinematography only heightens the disso-


nance of the surprisingly plausible short journey from victim and persecutor. “As we fought for Fleete’s soul with the sil- ver man in that room,” the gore-caked narrator – portrayed with simmering nuance by genre stalwart Debbie Rochon – muses, “we disgraced ourselves forever.” Moral of the story? If you want to keep your inner sadist


bottled up, party with fewer sacrilegious assholes. SHAWN MACOMBER


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