“I got an idea all right,
but I think it's against the law.” Everything you need to know about
the tone of Wayne Berwick's Microwave Massacre can be gleaned from the
opening sequence. Strutting in with an foot-tappingly catchy funkadelic opening
theme, Marla Simon (credited as 'Knothole Girl') – in figure-hugging
high 'n' tight jeans – jiggles her way down a suburban street brandishing all
kinds of swagger. She happens upon a construction site and a hole in a wall, in
which her ample assets become lodged after a creep gooses her. Two workers spy
the scene unveiling itself from the other side and charge in goggle-eyed wonder
– but they miss out at the last second. Yep, it's the 1970s and this goofy
brand of working men's club humour is the order of the day. It's the sort of
thing you might have seen in the work of Russ Meyer or those “Confessions...”
movies with all their waggling eyebrows and double entendres, as a schlub in
search of a simple working man's meal discovers culinary cannibalism as the
solution...
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continue the review and see more screenshots…
“I have to go to the breast
room … I mean rest room! Be right back!” Fed up with fancy food – such
as a whole crab stuffed inside a boule loaf – the downcast and slow-talking
Donald (stand-up comedian Jackie Vernon) begs his wife May (Claire
Ginsberg) to put aside the flambé and serve up something a little more blue
collar from her gargantuan microwave. Resorting to extremes – like a dog food
sandwich – Donald eventually snaps and batters May to death with a salt grinder
(making sure to toss a little over his left shoulder in the process).
But what to do with the body? Hack it up and stash it in the fridge, of course!
“When it comes to cooking
you'd make a good decorator.” However, when a sleepy midnight snack
turns out to be one of his wife's hands, Donald's aversion to cannibalism takes
a swift back seat to a newly discovered tasty treat, one that he's generous
enough to share with his workmates Philip (Al Troupe) and Roosevelt (Loren
Schein). Gifted a new lease of life, Donald soon takes to finding more
nubile flesh to simultaneously resurrect his deceased sex life and keep his
fridge stocked with juicy, slow broiled lunches – but how long can he keep this
secret hidden?
“I can't remember the last
time I had something good to eat.” And that's about it, really.
Clocking in at a scant 76 minutes (with credits), a lack of sub-plotting
and a minuscule budget (about $80,000) means the meat on these bones is
pretty lean. However, Microwave Massacre is positively heavy with
vaudeville-ish humour by way of 1970s smut. The gags come thick and fast, from
Lou Ann Webber's cherry-sucking prostitute named Dee Dee Dee (because her
mother had a stutter) to white man Roosevelt teaching black man Philip how
to feel the groove, and from the swinger couple next door to 'Knothole Girl'
groping a beefcake construction worker who turns out to be gay, it's safe to
say that subtlety and taste are not high on the list of priorities. Some of the
gags have a low brow charm and work surprisingly well for what they are (the
mistimed bleeps on a TV talk show), while others clatter to the floor like
so many pots and pans crashed into by a bumbling doofus (the drive-thru gag).
Suffice it to say, this movie
would never be made today – thank heavens for that! screams some
miserable bugger from the rafters – but even though much of the humour was
already pretty dated at the time of the film's production in 1978, the flick
does possess certain charms. Seeing that as much as a quarter of the already
dinky budget went to paying Jackie Vernon, money was tight, but that family
vibe of 'low budget first time feature film making' shines a glimmer or two
through the murky clouds. Donald's kitschy home décor and Sam's dive bar
capture the modest side of Los Angeles and churn out production value for
little investment, but the same cannot be said of the gore effects. Much of the
grue is either left conveniently off-screen or flashes by quick, but sometimes
not as quick as needs be. A few sketchy fake body parts (some evidently
bought on-the-cheap from a joke shop) let down gore fiends, but it all adds
to the delirious soup of silliness that is Microwave Massacre.
Originally intended as something darker, the script – written by Craig Muckler
and Thomas Singer – took on a far dafter tone, which the director leaned into
with gusto, and a similarly 'go with it' attitude will serve viewers well.
“You're a walking
contraceptive, you know that?” For the most part the unbridled
absurdity pays off, but eventually the clumsy pacing and plotting sputters in
the back half as the film lurches towards a sudden finish. Indeed, the finale
seems to lack any sense of climax at all. The film almost seems to stop
happening with any comeuppance occurring totally off-screen while a
slighter-than-slight supernatural sub-plot pops in to remind you that it was
actually introduced a while ago. Despite the various flaws on display, though,
there's usually something around the corner to inspire a few chuckles and bring
you back around to its gleefully goofy way of thinking, from the neighbour
gardening with a personal massager to the credits listed 'In Order of Consumption'.
The 'Loony Tunes for infantile grown ups' nature of Microwave Massacre
is as likely to be a turn off as much as a turn on, depending on each viewer's
tolerance for low budget schlock fare. If you're not on board with what's been
described above – and especially if you're easily offended by dated gags and
rudeness – naturally look elsewhere for your entertainment, but if this tickles
your VHS trash funny bone you should get a few kicks out of it.
“Now I know where I seen
them … er, you!” Arrow Video's 2016 Blu-Ray release features a solid
visual presentation and a workable audio track, the flaws of which will no
doubt be down to the quality of the source elements (clicks, pops, and
various moments of degradation do, however, infuse a bit of nostalgia for the
old days of reel-to-reel celluloid film projection). Unsurprisingly for a
title this niche, the extras aren't copious, but they make for a fine aperitif.
In addition to an audio commentary, trailer, image gallery (dig that
première invitation), and booklet, viewers also get a 21 minute
retrospective documentary featuring key players and some interesting tidbits:
the infamous opening credits sequence was improvised after the original idea
was canned when a grocery store location pulled out at the last minute.
Finally, hardcore fans can check out the the original treatment and 8-page
synopsis via BD/DVD-ROM content.
N.B. Screenshots are taken
from the DVD copy of the film.
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