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Burial Ground:
The Nights of Terror |
(1980, unrated, dubbed,
horror) |
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Wells,
all I can say is, Hallelujah! and Praise the Lord! My
long-lost Bertha-Jean finally done come home to me, and she's
a sight fer sore eyes. Why, she's purtier than a prize pig
gussied-up for the 4-H stock show!
As y'all may recollect, early last year, my portly hunny made
a beeline for the door one night to get the Dominos Triple-Stuffed
Supersize Pepperoni Pizza that I'd ordered—nearly tramplin'
Grammy Myrtle to death in the process—and she never returned.
Thanks to reports from readers as far away as Sulphur Bluff,
who tracked her through the swath of terror she created munchin'
through the better part of the state's supply of Golden Corrals,
we was finally able to locate her. Early attempts to trap her
in a gunny sack was sadly unsuccessful, tho', as she managed
to chaw her way through and escape.
Seems that when she'd opened the door that fateful night, the
delivery boy was none other than Petey-Joe Abney—one
of them young fellers all the girls go fer. Just havin' turned
16, Petey-Joe had decided it was time for him to settle down
with a little missus. That not bein' available, he picked a
plus-size mature gal—that gal bein' my very own beloved
Bertha-Jean! Accordin' to police reports, Petey-Joe told her
he was gonna be a VIP soon, what with his new job as Assistant
Night Manager of the just-opened Dairy Queen down at Hinkles
Ferry, and wooed her with promises of Peanut Buster Parfaits
with unlimited toppins.
When he sweetened the pot by tellin' her that they could shack
up at the local Travelodge (which offers free ice and HBO on
weekends), it was somethin' she couldn't rightly say no to.
I guess all was fine 'til the Parfait machine went on the fritz—leakin'
a mixture of sludgy milk by-product and machine oil onto the
imitation southwestern tile floor. That was the beginnin' of
the end for their love. (By the way, Petey-Joe, my cousin Buford
is gettin' out of the state pen this weekend, and I've asked
him to drop by and pay you a visit. And I still say Buford
didn't kill all them people—if you can't find the bodies,
then it ain't a crime.)
Speakin' of things that make ya wanna hurl, we got us a real
winner tonight to review—a gem from Italy called Burial
Ground: The Nights of Terror. Now, I don't care what bad
thangs y'all have to say about Italy—alls I know is that
any country that gave us Chef Boyardee can't be all bad.
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The
flick starts out with this Eyetalian Professor guy
who figgers out somethin' about The Dead and
goes into this crypt thingy in his backyard and starts
hammerin' away with a pick. Now, havin' had no end
of noise from my own neighbors next door in Stall 24C,
I can rightly say that this kinda thang can royally
tick ya off somethin' mighty. So, these dead folks
get all woked up and come out and start munchin' on
his ear and gobblin' on his innerds like they thought
they was out at the Golden Corral. The Professor
tries to tell 'em: "I am your friend," but
that don't seem to do a heck of a lot of good. (A Helpful
Tip for y'all out there: A crypt in the backyard can
raise the value of your home!) |
The
Rotary Club welcomes its newest member to town |
Wellsir, next we see this whole bunch
of people show up at the Professor's house—seems that
he'd invited 'em there to tell 'em about his Dead Folks research—somethin'
about "the magic of the ancient Etruscans," whatever
that is. They can't find him, so they do what comes natural
when you're invited to someone's house for scientific research
findings—they pair up and go make nookie. What wimmin-folk
can resist a line like, "You're gonna get a raise from
me, all right, but it has nothing to do with money!" Why,
Bertha-Jean was already havin' the vapors, and we was just
a few minutes into the flick!
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But,
all good thangs must come to an end, as this blonde
bimbo named Janet finds when she gets her tongue out
of the guy's tonsils and starts noticin' that there's
two dead folks eyein' 'em for dinner. Then, she steps
on a steel-jawed trap that snaps shut faster than Bertha-Jean
reachin' for a bucket of chicken from KFC. Her boyfriend
Mark, who looks like he needs to get on over to the
Hair Club for Men, helps her out by openin' the trap
three times, losin' his grip, and snappin' it shut
on her ankle. It was at this point that Bertha-Jean
tried to scream, but accidently sucked down one of
them Hostess Hoho's into her windpipe, and I had to
give her the Heimlich maneuver before rushin' back
to the VCR. |
Michael
Jackson shows off his latest plastic surgery |
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Meanwhile,
we got this coot named George who's hangin' out with
Sophia Loren-look-alike Evelyn and her kid (who looks
like an elf with a really bad toupee). The zombies
come a-callin', so George tries to shoot 'em a few
times. That don't seem to work too well, since pea
soup starts gurglin' out of 'em. Before you can say, "If
the glove don't fit, you must acquit," the zombies
start munchin' on George—pullin' out his innerds,
chompin' on 'em, and generally makin' a big mess everwheres.
Next thing ya know, Mom (ever the sharp cookie!) tosses
paint on the zombies, lights a match, and makes Zombie
Flambe. Go, Mom! Now I'll remember how to deal
with unwanted visitors! |
Freaky
Elf-Boy gives his "Come Hither" look |
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Back
at the trap, Janet's finally freed when James and Leslie
show up and they bust a few zombie skulls. It's at
this point that Janet has an intelligent idea: "We
need to get to the car!" Everyone then runs to
the car and drives away. The End. Oh wait—I
guess they completely ignore her and run inside the
house instead! So now, we got them trapped inside,
and the zombies outside (who want to get inside), and
there ain't no place to run. In case you don't figger
they got a case of the Stupids, Mark suggests, "Let
them come in—maybe it's something they want in
the house, not us." Apparently, that plan is tabled.
(Which is durned good, if you ask me!) |
Catholic
monks take the Lord's Supper a little too far |
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Next
thing ya know, the zombies have nailed the housekeeper's
hand to the wall and cut off her head with a scythe.
(The blood spurts out in a super close-up that goes
on and on, so ya really know you're gettin' your money's
worth outta this film.) Bob Vila would be durned proud
of these zombies, who seem to know their way 'round
household tools. Another gal gets her head cut open
on a broken window, turns zombie, then kills Freaky
Elf-Boy and starts gnawing on his dismembered arm.
This film has somethin' for everyone! Mom gets p.o.'ed
at zombie gal and bashes the lady's brains out on the
ceramic tub. (I think she's got issues.) |
Freaky
Elf-Boy gets really friendly with Mom |
This review's kinda gettin' on the long
side, so let's bring this puppy home. We got 20 zombies. We
got 10 dead bodies. Three breasts. Hand nailed to the wall.
Gut-eating. Neck-chewing. Heads roll. Arms roll. Arm-gnawing.
Head through a window. Intestine munching. Zombie Professor.
Boob chewing. Head cut off with power saw. Boyfriend gnaws
Mom's face. Death by bathtub. Killer monk attack. Pea soup
spurting. Totally Twisted Video Review award nominations
for Peter Bark, as Freaky Elf-Boy, for pawing his mother's
boob and then saying, "I loved your breasts so much, Mama," and
for Simone Mattioli, as James, for the line: "You look
just like a little whore, but I like that look on you."
Git on home, now—I gotta slop the pigs.
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