You deserved whatever you got, you who watched 2012’s RETURN TO BLOOD FART LAKE. There’s no way you thought it would be good — you knew it would be bad, maybe epically bad, maybe bad so bad it comes all the way round back to good before settling into its own filth. You weren’t looking to resolve questions unanswered from 2009’s TERROR AT BLOOD FART LAKE. You weren’t a Director Chris Seaver completist. No, you thought it would be a laugh, maybe salacious, certainly gratuitous. Maybe you’d stumbled on some forgotten treasure.
Well, you lost, mostly you lost 111 minutes of your life that you can never get back. To call RtBFL a bad movie does not stretch the idea of bad, it stretches the idea of movie. It’s easy enough to imagine the impulse that led to the creation of the original TERROR. I mean, stoned college students do lots of stupid things. But what explains the drive to a sequel? Unasked questions demand no answers, and if anyone needed more BLOOD FART, surely this is not what they were expecting.
The “movie” opens with some exposition between some terribly overacting guy who happens upon some other guy who at least spares us his acting at all. The latter is in his death throes, or rather we’re in the throes of his 10-minute death in which he tells of a slasher on the prowl. That would be the Scarecrow Killer who dispatches his victims with well-placed cobs and corny puns (intended). Mostly the vignette is an opportunity for our overactor to guerilla market his t-shirt company. Seriously.
Elsewhere in the Fartiverse, a crack team of the Worst Characters Evah assembles to create their own reality show based on tracking down Scarecrow. This Band of Losers includes some softcore BBW “actress” marketing her own porn videos, like, her actual porn titles; and another girl channeling her inner-Chuckie. That’s Chuckie of the RUGRATS, Chuckie. *Shudder* Also on the hunt is — Oh, what to call him?– cryptobiology enthusiast (?) Jock de Queef, he recently introduced to pegging by his girlfriend who finds him emasculated (the cure to which is pegging?!). You can’t really make this stuff up, people.
Obviously, the movie does not lack for novel ideas. I do not doubt that its creators are true horror/slasher genre devotees, and that they amused themselves immensely in creating this. That’s just great and I hope they sold seven t-shirts. And who can deny that it’s fun to say BLOOD FART LAKE? Sadly, when the height of the effort’s creativity is its title– and even that is riffing on its own three-year-old inspiration– then settle in, suckers, because this is going to suck. On The Way to Hell, that lined with good intentions, RETURN TO BLOOD FART LAKE is the trip’s in-flight entertainment. Boring and ugly, you have it coming.
John Clark is a local non-celebrity with a pension for pain, and Chihuahuas. If you like a good retweet (FROM THE VOID!), follow him at @egjc_wa.