Last night’s crappy movie was Bird Flu Horror, or Flu Bird Horror as the Interzone keeps telling me (though I swear the DirecTV guide said it was Bird Flu Horror). Another in the line of SyFy masterpieces.
Oh good lord was this one bad. It displayed none of the hallmarks of the beautiful bad film.
I tried to laugh at the bird monsters, but the quick camera flashes of them (including absurd closeups of the heads “tearing” at flesh) and the usual fuzzy looking CGI just gave me a headache. They looked more like bat boy grew some wings than they did a mutant strain of bird.
The characters were all unlikable to a degree I would not have thought possible. The “at risk” teens at the heart of the film were a bunch of assholes. There was the usual blubbering, loser tubby kid named Porky (think Joey from Friday the 13th Part V). He even snarfed down a candy bar early in the film while lost in the woods. He might have had the prescience to realize it would be his last meal and he ate it with the gusto such an occasion calls for. The rest of the teens were a motley crew of fucksticks that were vying for the title of head douche. There was the whore, the rapper, the afro-cool light-skinned black dood, the greaser, the albino (OK, I don’t know what the hell he was doing here other than acting as Act II bird food) and the complicated heroine. Our heroine, played by Sarah Butler who will feature in the I Spit On Your Grave rehashing, was the only one we could conceivably root for and she was trying hard to ruin it for us. The rest of the teens, the quickly dispatched counselor, and the adults are all rather homely and add nothing.
Toss in a bumbling, John C. Reilly wanna-be Forest Ranger, a couple of milquetoast, female doctors and a cadre of Government Men in Black types and you can see where this is going. Nowhere.
The Feds are going to bomb stuff and will do anything to prevent the spread of the virus. You see, the bird monsters are not just feasting on humans they are giving them the plague or some such blue-veiny, puss-blistering nonsense. Oh, the horror.
People died, mutant bird monsters had a blast and eventually it ended. The pacing was jerky, having moments of pure, unadulterated speed and corresponding snail’s pace slowdowns with telegraphed plot and acting reminiscent of the worst teleprompter reads you’ve ever seen.
What made it even more utterly awful was that I was shifting to Son of Godzilla during the commercial breaks. Talk about hilarity. Just looking at little Godz (Minilla) induced fits of uncontrollable giggling. You just have to see him learning to use his radioactive fire-plasma breath blast, the monumental giant spider versus giant mantis battle, and the hysterical human scientist crew.