“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds."
Saturday, August 25, 2018
Weasels Rip My Flesh (1979)
The first film by Nathan Schiff, whose "They Don't Cut the Grass Any More" I covered long ago, this was shot when he was 16 on Super-8 on a budget of $400. It's his best film, I think, though that's not saying much. As far as I can tell, the plot has a spaceship from Venus losing some ooze, which kids pour on a weasel, turning it into a giant monster; later, I think there's bad guys who want to take over the world with an army of giant weasel monsters. The effects are astonishingly cheap: in one shot, intestines are portrayed by Spaghettios, the papier-mache monster is just a puppet head operated by hands you often see and a toy rocketship moves by moving the camera. It's just over an hour long, and though confusing (you can't see some things, there's continuity errors and logic gaps), it's more watchable than a lot of these cheapo flicks. I can actually recommend it. The title came from the title of a Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention album, which in turn came from a pulp magazine story in "Man's Life."
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