THINGS is notable mostly as a curio, being the mainstream(?) film launchpad of blue movie queen Amber Lynn. So popular was she in the jizz biz, it was probably inevitable that she'd end up lending her...ehh..."star-power"...to some zot-budget video-exclusive horror flick. Well...in this apocalyptically awful mess, Amber remains fully clothed, but demonstrates that she is, indeed, able to read(!). Her participation consists entirely of prerecorded video footage which features her as a news anchor, blankly reporting some vaguely expository clack on a TV in the house where this "movie" takes place. As she reads from her cue cards with monotone vacancy, you'll wish Ron Jeremy was on-hand to shovel his hairy plonker into her flapping maw to shut her up.
What we're offered, besides the dramatic marvels of Ms. Lynn, is badly shot footage(sans synchronized sound)of two drunk morons in a trashy house, belching out lines of witless dialog as a woman in the bedroom gives birth to several quiescent paper-mache bugs which our cretinous protagonists proceed to exterminate. That's about all I can say for certain, as THINGS is such an unfathomably disjointed thatch of unfaltering laxity that it seems to want nothing to do with itself.
Sadly, I have little doubt that some will actually find reason to praise this steaming rejectamenta as some sort of "art brut" masterpiece, rhapsodizing with masturbatory ardor over its befuddling surreal quality and experimental concrete minimalism. God help them.
1/10...a legitimate contender for "all time worst" accolades.
What we're offered, besides the dramatic marvels of Ms. Lynn, is badly shot footage(sans synchronized sound)of two drunk morons in a trashy house, belching out lines of witless dialog as a woman in the bedroom gives birth to several quiescent paper-mache bugs which our cretinous protagonists proceed to exterminate. That's about all I can say for certain, as THINGS is such an unfathomably disjointed thatch of unfaltering laxity that it seems to want nothing to do with itself.
Sadly, I have little doubt that some will actually find reason to praise this steaming rejectamenta as some sort of "art brut" masterpiece, rhapsodizing with masturbatory ardor over its befuddling surreal quality and experimental concrete minimalism. God help them.
1/10...a legitimate contender for "all time worst" accolades.