STUDIO: Green Apple (BUY IT FROM CHUD.COM)
RUNNING TIME: 85 minutes
- Round disc.
- Any oxygen you breathe near the disc can be considered a special feature.
Behold the acting team of Dying God! James Horan. Lance Henriksen. Nicolás Silvert. Misty Mundae.
Behold the writing team of Dying God! Six human beings joined forces to create this: Uriel Barros. Jean Depelley. Fabrice Lambot (also the director). Nicanor Loreti. Matt Timm. Germán Val.
A South American ‘God’ is somehow alive in a shitty city and all he wants to do is rape, rape, rape. A horrible ‘edgy’ police officer that looks like major league baseball’s bird killing pitcher Randy Johnson (not a compliment) hooks up with the crippled Lance Henriksen to cease its rapey ways before it impregnates a bad actress.
The bulk of Dying God is a really poorly acted and horribly shot police story about a cop (James Horan, a veteran of many soap operas and now my nightmares) trying to get to the root of a case where not terribly attractive ladies are raped so hard that their lower body is mangled nonsense. First, they look for really violent offenders. Then later, they look for a South American creature with a massive rod.
The film tries to be edgy and filled with unsavory characters, devoting a massive amount of screen time to the cop. The character cheats, is dirty, and has disappointing to watch sex with a variety of boring people. It’s a very plot driven movie and there are some decent ideas here but the quality of the production is so bad that it’s impossible to find anything to cling to. The video quality is made worse by a really terrible transfer. The audio is unremarkable. The photography is often several notches below professional grade and every actor in the film is painful to watch. Horan is a horrible leading man and Lance Henriksen either owed some arcane debt to the filmmakers or just longed to play a man in a wheelchair so much he took this gig as some salty punishment. He looks embarrassed enough so that you can almost see the waves of puzzlement pass behind his eyes.
The monster with the insatiable sexual appetite is also shoddily realized. A bad costume shot without deft use of shadow usually leads to laughs and groans. This time it’s worse: Indifference. Plus, the giant cock sheath of the creature is spotted in a cutaway scene around the film’s midpoint and never revisited. During the film’s climax, I wanted to see our shitty hero fighting this beast while trying to not get dickslapped in the process.
That never happens.
Offset by minimal quality gore, there’s simply no winning. It’s a shame too, because I love the fact that a large group of people bonded together to make a movie about a raping creature from myth culled straight from the Corman Textbook. They spent weeks together making a movie. There was passion. There was probably a night where some of the crew huddled around a television while watching The Relic and Alien and Vice Squad and getting tremendously amped up about contributing their own vision to the genre.
Then they snotted and wiped it all across America.
KEEPER, RENTER, or AVOIDER?
You should avoid this so hard your neck snaps off.
Out of a Possible 5 Stars