Terror at Blood Fart Lake (2009)

I can sum up this review in two words: Don’t bother.

To those considering watching this failed attempt at horror comedy, don’t bother. To those involved in the making of this so-called film, don’t bother! Don’t bother making any more films. Don’t bother watching any more films. Don’t even bother watching YouTube. It’ll just give you jerks more ideas. More terrible, terrible ideas.

This mess was written and directed by Chris Seaver, whose previous cinematic attempts include such illuminating titles as Wet Heat, Scrotal Vengeance, and Heather and Puggly Drop a Deuce. The opening credits inform us that this is “A Chris Seaver Talkie”. As opposed to “A Chris Seaver Porno”? Trust me, you do not want to know what a blood fart is. My life was so much happier before I knew about blood farts. Now my life is ruined.

I’m not going to summarize what happens in the movie. I’m not even going to continue writing this review. It would be a waste of your time as a reader. And I really don’t want to relive the grueling torture I endured viewing this slasher stinkeroo. I love a bad movie just as much – heck, even more – than the next guy. But sometimes you just come across a movie so bad, so unfunny (at a Love Guru level), that to spend time writing or talking about it would be to grant it a level of respect and attention it  just doesn’t deserve. And this is coming from a critic who wrote extensive analyses of Cool as Ice and Going Overboard. It’s as if the folks behind this movie attempted to make a no-budget Friedberg/Seltzer (Epic Movie, Meet the Spartans) spoof comedy and made something even more wretched, more detestable, and more painfully and embarrassingly unfunny.

This is the Pandora’s Box of bad movies. Don’t open it, brah!

But if you want to sit through 76 minutes chock-a-block with atrocious “jokes”, a homicidal and flamboyantly-gay scarecrow, the most exhaustingly-bad overacting I have ever suffered through, and a fatso horny goth chick who spends a good chunk of the movie humping the air while screaming “ENTER ME!”, then be my guest. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

My Rating
-25 Blood Farts out of 5

This is what happens when “no budget” and “no talent” collide with “no taste”. Terror at Blood Fart Lake is an insult to direct-to-DVD.

In what’s undoubtedly a sign of the Mayan Apocalypse, Return to Blood Fart Lake limped its way to a Wal-Mart bargain bin near you on February 21, 2012. The only review on Amazon.com declared it to be “an abomination” and a “[m]ovie… full of funk and spunk”. I haven’t even seen the movie and I’m already starting to feel sick to my stomach again…

Originally posted on Fun Time Internet on September 11, 2009


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