Review By Tony Montoya
I tell you padre, they just don’t fucking make ’em like this anymore. I mean, I’m sure they do. I’m sure they still use like a script and a guy with a college degree in doing a camera, but shit, this is the fucking time you want to be having when you sit your ass down for a little story on a Sunday night when your whole world is up Dickie’s Meadow with a soft three and you need some sort of sign, like the kind of respite we always used to get back in the day: a little fucking tuck and poke and tell your mother I say hello down at the drive-in theater off Colfax.
John Carpenter humped a fuckin’ inside-the-park grand slam with the direction, dialogue and banging score in this glistening little gem of cinema, and listen here, I don’t like no sally shit, padre. I like the way this ride starts in bum fuck New Mexico, and shit, you’re right there alongside these amigos, pulling off vampire donkey dick and watching it flame and turn to dust. Let it burn, ashes to ashes, scene to scene, cracking skulls and shooting crossbows with the team.
Then it mixes the violence with the partying, gratuitous titty shots at the motel but you don’t want it to end cause you’re there; you’re one of the gang. It doesn’t have to be all silver bullets, stakes and losing the hottest among us to this debilitating disease known as vampirism, no, this time in the motel is the first time we all truly knew we had friends. We got a brief glimpse of something better.
And so you’re promising to suck on them titties, but shit, shit padre. Fucking blood sucker, lurking in the back room, running his hand up and down Katrina, but hell, it’s that kind of party padre, know what I mean? You could be sticking your dick up in the mashed potatoes, Jack doesn’t give a shit. He’s got bigger things on his mind. Like where could the master be? That’s what dirty old Jack is thinking, but if only he knew, shit brother, that’s the hottest gotdamn scene in the movie, and that’s my girl with fucking Valek! It’s fucked up, I know padre, but I can tell you these things, can’t I? You’ve got an open mind, right padre?
I don’t want to spoil much more for you, but this fucking piece of cinematography just greases up my pappies like the little stink you find in the folds. What were they looking for out there that they all got so lost in the sauce? The Black Cross of Béziers. We fucking lost the whole damn team for that piece of black magic padre, shit.
I’d take it all back if I could, but just so I could do it all again and watch it with fresh eyes like the first time. Watch this movie on a Sunday night and GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER PADRE.
The North End 
Leave a comment