Tominator here.
What can I say? Blood Car. Or Blood Lawnmower. Or Blood Truck. Or Blood Barbecue Grill. Unless you're a charcoal man.
A fine, ribald, grotesque cautionary tale at once for both car-lovers, petroleum aficionados, and sexpot kindergarten teachers, Blood Car delivers by the gallon a number of laughs, splatter, and animal cruelty (not to be confused with either humor or unhumor) and is a fine paradoxical look at the American dependence upon the automobile, oil, and gender bifurcation. While the level of gratuitous blood rivals Feast, the social commentary is much more intact, and over the course of a brief 74 minutes or so we watch a happy bicycle-riding vegan turn into a meat-eating homicidal government pigeon taking a failed veggie-powered Honda and turning it into a growling, bloodthirsty fuckmobile. Finally he relents and gives his secret, that which he believed to be saving man, not destroying it, to the very people who have, assumably, been perpetuating the 36-dollar-per-gallon gas prices.
Entertaining, plenty bloody, awfully hilarious in places, but at places seemed too much like a Troma film. And as a kitten-loving vegetarian, I was alarmed at how loudly I was laughing at the slaughter of a disabled, triple-amputee vet for his luscious sanguinity.
Or maybe I've said too much.
Tominator out.
What can I say? Blood Car. Or Blood Lawnmower. Or Blood Truck. Or Blood Barbecue Grill. Unless you're a charcoal man.
A fine, ribald, grotesque cautionary tale at once for both car-lovers, petroleum aficionados, and sexpot kindergarten teachers, Blood Car delivers by the gallon a number of laughs, splatter, and animal cruelty (not to be confused with either humor or unhumor) and is a fine paradoxical look at the American dependence upon the automobile, oil, and gender bifurcation. While the level of gratuitous blood rivals Feast, the social commentary is much more intact, and over the course of a brief 74 minutes or so we watch a happy bicycle-riding vegan turn into a meat-eating homicidal government pigeon taking a failed veggie-powered Honda and turning it into a growling, bloodthirsty fuckmobile. Finally he relents and gives his secret, that which he believed to be saving man, not destroying it, to the very people who have, assumably, been perpetuating the 36-dollar-per-gallon gas prices.
Entertaining, plenty bloody, awfully hilarious in places, but at places seemed too much like a Troma film. And as a kitten-loving vegetarian, I was alarmed at how loudly I was laughing at the slaughter of a disabled, triple-amputee vet for his luscious sanguinity.
Or maybe I've said too much.
Tominator out.
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