THE EMPEROR’S NEW GROOVE (2000)

Yes, I’m well-aware that it’s uncool to praise Disney in these modern days. You can sing the praises of Pixar until your voice gives out, but give Disney the time of day and the fans start stripping away your cred. Well, my position on the Evil Empire has been clearly stated in the past and I’m forever convinced that in my lifetime I’ll see the field of stars on the American Flag replaced with Mickey ears. That doesn’t take away from the fact that the House of Mouse, despite many, many misfires, is still a reigning champion in the animation business. Disney movies have influenced my and most others’ childhoods for the last fifty years. So, hip or not, there’s a lot to be said for their output.

Deny it as much as you want, just about everybody has a favorite “Disney Classic”. Most of my generation will point to The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast or Aladdin. Those before us might cite the tried-and-true staples like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs or Sleeping Beauty. The incredibly smug will bring up Song of the South and grin knowingly. But I have a fondness for some of their lesser successes, particularly the old fashioned adventure Atlantis: The Lost Empire and our subject for today: The Emperor’s New Groove, one of the funniest animated movies ever made and, for my money, one of the funniest movies period.

Many, many years ago, in an unnamed jungle empire bearing a striking resemblance to Incan Peru, young Emperor Kuzco is the ruler of the free world. He dances to his own theme music and his every whim is granted. On the eve of his 18^th birthday, he invites the humble peasant, Pacha, to the palace to ask him a single question: where does Pacha’s hilltop village get the most sun. After Pacha replies, Kuzco thanks him and informs him that the village will be destroyed to make way for “Kuzcotopia”. Pacha tries to reason with him, but he’s dealing with a self-centered jerk who had an old man tossed out a window for daring to “throw off his groove”. Meanwhile, Kuzco manages to tick off his sorceress advisor, the ancient Yzma, so she and her thick-but-good-natured assistant Kronk turn Kuzco into a llama. Purely by accident, you understand; they meant to kill him.

A series of misadventures reunites Pacha with the llama-fied Kuzco and the peasant agrees to safely escort the emperor back to the palace, hoping along the way that he can not only change the ruler’s mind about destroying the village but also betting that there might be a kernel of good inside the teenaged twit. The journey itself is treacherous, beset with jaguars and towering cliffs, but they’re also pursued by Yzma and Kronk who hope to finish the job.

On the surface, The Emperor’s New Groove doesn’t sound like much, does it? It could be any made-for-cable or straight-to-DVD cut-rate adventure. In fact, it started life as a straight-forward adventure titled Kingdom in the Sun and it was on its way to being just that ordinary. However, in a series of less-hysterical corporate misadventures, director Mark Dindal, fresh off his stint on the wretched Cats Don’t Dance, was brought in to overhaul the production. Out went the original by-the-numbers take on The Prince and the Pauper, out went an anlready-composed score by award-winning tree-hugger Sting, and in came a plot that fell somewhere in between a Hope and Crosby road movie and a Chuck Jones cartoon. What wound up on the screen was sheer and joyful lunacy.

The clever script by Dindal, Chris Williams, David Reynolds received a perfectly-cast collection of high-profile (at the time) voices including David Spade (Kuzco), the ubiquitous John Goodman (Pacha), the even more ubiquitous Patrick Warburton (Kronk) and the movie’s absolute highlight, Eartha Kitt as Yzma. Then Dindal and company filled the movie to the brim with expertly-timed sight-gags and daffy character-driven comic set-pieces. Rarely pandering (compare to the pop-culture mish-mashed Shrek movies) and dizzyingly paced, The Emperor’s New Groove breezes along from one joke to another, barely giving the viewer time to recover from the previous bit of lunacy.

Yzma and Kronk easily steal the show. A wrinkled hag who is none-the-less fabulous, Yzma is part Wicked Witch and part mad scientist with her secret lab and cabinet filled with vials of animal extract (at one point, her guards are assaulted with all manner of fluids. One is transmogrified into something decidedly non-terrifying: “Um, I’ve been turned into a cow. Can I go home?” To which Yzma replies. “You are excused.” Then orders the rest into battle.) Her secret lab is entered through a trap door fit with two levers. With an order reminiscent of Jack Lemmon in The Great Race, she announcs:

“Pull the lever, Kronk!” Then—“Not that lever!” jus t as she’s dropped an unfathomable distance to a river below. Emerging dripping wet through her entrance door, a crocodile chomping on her foot, Yzma asks, grumpily, “Why do we even have that lever?”

Kronk can talk to squirrels, Kuzco is a terrible llama and Pacha’s children both channel Bugs Bunny on numerous occassions. (What’s even better, the kids are never overused.) Admittedly, you’ll have to overcome your aversion to David Spade very early in the movie, as Kuzco is nothing more than every other character Spade has ever played, but the selfish ruler grows on you quickly. He’s often abused, too, which helps immensely. There are expected in-jokes galore as well, but the best of them are subtle—Kuzco is momentarily transformed into a whale in a visual shot right out of Pinocchio, to name just one example.

What’s remarkable about New Groove is how little Disnification you’re assaulted with. Not only is the entire movie structured like a Warner Brothers short but you never feel like you’re watching a giant shill for toys. Like the best of the Pixar features, New Groove is character-driven, but it isn’t afraid to take liberties with the meta-fiction. (At one point, Yzma and Kronk manage to beat Kuzco back to the palace. And even Kronk agrees that the turn of events was unlikely.) It’s pure silliness with no agenda but to entertain, rather than to sell plush Kuzco llamas at the Disney Stores. If you’re a hard-line anti-Disney-ite, The Emperor’s New Groove might even be the perfect movie for you.

With the mechanations involved in getting this film to theaters—the ground-up retooling, pissing off Sting (he contributes one Oscar-nominated-by-default song to the end credits)—the marketing arm of the Mouse Factory really dropped the ball. Television ads played up the Spade-isms and pop culture references, making it seem like New Groove  was little more than a funny-animal slapstick show aimed at toddlers. While the movie was far from a failure at the box office, it’s rarely mentioned in the same breath as the “classics”. Truth be told, New Groove was as brave an experiment as the equally-wonderful Lilo and Stitch, so it’s a shame so few people have discovered it. It played well enough with kids to spawn a direct sequel called Kronk’s New Groove (completely showcasing Warburton) and a hit-or-miss Disney Channel series called The Emperor’s New School, both lack the lunatic wit of the original.

Naturally, The Emperor’s New Groove is not hard to find. In fact, a terrific 2-disc set was released in 2001, which is still relatively easy to run down on Amazon. However, there exists a still-unreleased New Groove documentary The Sweatbox produced by Mrs. Sting, filmmaker Trudie Styler that follows the trials and travails of the Kingdom in the Sun right up until the point where the former Police man is shown the door. The composer was extremely vocal at the time about his dissatisfaction with his treatment at the hands of the Mouse Factory and The Sweatbox shines a hard light on the almost-doomed project. To be fair, it also shows just how hard everyone in production worked to get the movie back on track, redesigning it into something unique. But because it doesn’t put the company on the pedestal, Disney had the documentary shelved after it’s Sundance premiere in 2002. Deemed so damaging to their reputation, it’s rumored that the company won’t even let it be shown internally without giving the print its own escort. 

INN OF THE DAMNED (1974)

Should you travel back in time to 1896 and find yourself in the wilds of Gippsland, Australia, do yourself a favor and find accomodations other than the Straulle Inn, owned by the bizarre couple Caroline and Lazar. Because, in case the title didn’t make it obvious, you won’t leave.

See, the Straulles, still a bit loopy after the deaths of their young children at the hands of some convicts many years ago, are in cahoots with their coachman, Biscayne, to rob and kill wealthy travelers via ingeniously-booby trapped beds. Elsewhere, Trooper Moore and Yankee bounty hunter Carl Kincaid are hot on Biscayne’s trail for a horrible murder he committed some years back, without the aid of the Straulle’s. Every killer needs to do a little evil on the side, after all, otherwise it’s just work. In between those plots is an unrelated bit of fluff involving a pair of hard-looking young ladies who take a bath together and sleep naked, though one insists she’s not into that sort of thing.

It all leads to a climax where one set of characters does their damnedest to kill another set of characters, using every method of death-dealing ever devised by man. It may not make a lot of sense, or even unfold in a remotely interesting fashion, but Inn of the Damned sure is bloody.

This awkward Aussie Outback western was, at the time, one of the most expensive Austrailian movies ever and thanks to the documentary Not Quite Hollywood has received a renewed bit of interest among exploitation fans. The problems are multiple—it’s dull, some of the accents can’t be decyphered without an Enigma machine, the actors are awful with scarcely a single exception (depending how low your thespian standards are), and the naked lesbians are scarier than the villains. But it does have a gleefully violent climax that unfortunately gives way to a ponderous “Hitchcockian” denoument, minus Hitch’s style or dark sense of humor. In fact, director Terry Bourke lacks just about everything a director needs to make a competent movie, save maybe a pulse. The actors come off more often than not as clumsy at best, and the plodding pace makes the viewing a real challenge.

Lone American Alex Cord, as Kincaid, makes for an odd hero, particularly contrasted with the upright, clean and brave Trooper Moore. Kincaid is grubby and dim and it’s a miracle that he made it as far as he did in life without accidentally sitting on his revolver.

Still, if you’re an Ozsploitation completist, then Inn of the Damned is a necessarly evil. The DVD is easy to come by… that’s about as much encouragement as I can give you. As usual, we at Movie Outlaw stand by our motto: “You’ve seen worse.”

ON GUARD (LE BOSSU 1997)

[Reprinted from Hey, Did You Ever See the Movie...?]

Lagardère, a lowly sword-for-hire, develops an unlikely friendship with Phillippe the Duc de Nevers, who has to his name plenty of money, a devious and dastardly cousin, Comte du Gonzague, a deadly fencing move called "la botte de Nevers" and a brand new baby courtesy of duchess Blanche du Caylus. If Phillippe marries Blanche, then their baby will become the heir to all that is Nevers and Gonzague will find himself with only a generous pension. Phillippe and Lagardère travel to Caylus but are attacked along the way by Gonzague’s men. Lagardère doesn’t know the Comte, but does recognize the scarlet kerchief of the deadly Peyrolles, so stays behind to hold off the assassins, giving Phillippe time to escape. The Duc de Nevers arrives and marries Blanche but before he can consummate the wedding, Gonzague and Peyrolles sneak into the castle and murder the entire wedding party. Phillippe is stabbed in the back by a masked Gonzague but Lagardère arrives just in time to “brand” the assassin—stabbing him through the hand and vowing vengeance: Si tu ne viens pas à Lagardère, Lagardère ira à toi! ("If you don't come to Largardère, Lagardère will come to you!")

Fleeing with the infant—a girl and not the boy Phillippe had hoped for—he fakes their death with the help of a traveling troupe of Italian actors and remains with them for the next sixteen years. Meanwhile, the baby, Aurore, has grown into a beautiful young woman who develops unusual feelings towards the man she believes to be her father. Unable to avoid Paris forever, the troupe performs in the heart of the city and Gonzague discovers that Lagardère is still alive. You see, the “Nevers Attack” is a very specific fencing move that results in the thrust of one’s sword between the eyes of the assailant. Phillippe taught this move to Legardere and he, in turn, taught it to Aurore. When she uses the move to fend off a would-be rapist, the jig, as the French do not say, is up.

Lagardère is driven into hiding once again—this time disguised as a hunchback accountant to Gonzague himself! Gonzague is hoping to amass another small fortune in American Louisiana, selling land along the Mississippi. Lagardère, discovering that Blanche is still alive and wealthy, though half-mad in a convent, the Chevalier conspires to bring about a happy ending to everyone (save, of course, Gonzague).

While no more or less complicated than Dumas’ The Three Musketeers or Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame, On Guard (adapted from the 1858 novel by Paul Féval, père) is a rousing, exciting and very clever movie starring Daniel Auteuil, Marie Gillain and Vincent Perez. The film belongs entirely to Auteuil, however, who can be both brave, foolish, clever, sad and comical all at the same time. For swashbuckling fans, here’s your new favorite movie, for hardly ten minutes goes by without a duel and by the end, you’ll be able to perform the “Nevers Attack” on your own, stabbing through foreheads to your heart’s delight!

For modern audiences, the subplot of Lagardère and Aurore falling in love might make one a bit uncomfortable, seeing as how, while he isn’t her biological father, he did raise her his entire life. The semi-incestual considerations aren’t really addressed as Lagardère is more concerned with the fact that by restoring Aurore to her noble position, he’ll remain as “a nobody”, with no title, no status and no money. Aurore, as a naïve teenager, sees only hopeless romance in poverty with this dashing man she’s known her whole life.

If you can get past the above and just chalk it up to “it’s the times they lived in”, you’ll have no trouble with On Guard as it never fails to be charming and thrilling and touching.

Naturally, the movie was given a limited release in the U.S., Koch-Lorber assuming once again that “subtitles equal death” at the box office. It is available commercially on DVD with a handsome transfer and gorgeous audio—the score is almost a character in and of itself, accompanying Lagardère through all his adventures.

The novel, Le bossu, was published fourteen years after Dumas’ The Three Musketeers and helped firmly establish the swordplay action subgenre ("roman de cape et d'épée"). In fact, so popular was the novel that Lagardère’s vow, Si tu ne viens pas à Lagardère, Lagardère ira à toi!, became a proverb in French language. Do yourself a favor and hunt this one down. 

Movie Outlaw: THE ABSENCE OF LIGHT (2006)

[In the interest of full disclosure, because of the nature of the independent film business, writer/director Patrick Desmond and musician/star Rich Conant are friends of ours. They have both worked on past films of ours, we've gotten drunk with them, etc. Before you cry nepotism, however, I will state that this review was written before said friendship/support group was formed. That being said, however, this is my goddamn blog and I'll plug whoever the hell I want to.]

A world-weary killer-for-hire going by the name “Puritan” (Richard Conant) swears, as so many do, that his next job will be his last. However, this famous last words “last job” turns out to be more than he expected—more than anyone could have expected. A pair of corporations—Division 8 and “The Plague”—are at war over a devious piece of sophisticated software dubbed “Devour”. It seems that “Devour” will give the user the ability to rewrite any code… including DNA. Suddenly, our jaded anti-hero finds himself in the middle of a situation he can’t possibly comprehend and if he isn’t careful, he’ll be contributing to the eradication of the human race.

A star-studded The Absence of Light is, without a doubt, one of the most ambitious independent movies I’ve seen in a long time. The convoluted and complicated plot requires multiple viewings and asks that the audience pay close attention in order to follow what is going on and what is (and is not) being said. Despite the numerous action set-pieces, this isn’t a “whiz-bang” little action sf/horror thing whipped up in the filmmakers’ back yards. A lot of thought and purpose went into the crafting of this movie.

While the majority of the celebrities were filmed at various fan conventions over the course of a year, every star serves a purpose in Patrick Desmond’s complicated narrative and seems to be giving each respective role his or her all. The presence of so many well-known actors may actually be distracting on the first watch—it’s tempting to sit and go ‘hey, there’s Tony Todd! Take a drink!’ without absorbing the reason he’s there. Hence the need for at least a second viewing, which might be asking too much of the average man-cave slug, sad to say.)

That the pros (including Toms Savini and Sullivan, David Hess, Caroline Munro, Michael Berryman, Robyn Griggs and multiple others) are top-notch actually goes without saying. The nicest surprise is that Conant more than holds his own and manages to avoid playing Puritan as a cliché. His seasoned hit man is actually quite amiable as well as three-dimensional—particularly in scenes where his actions make him a tough person to like. Savini, too, seems to be having a terrific time, giving a fun, relaxed performance in a role quite different from what his fans might be expecting. Effects man-turned-actor Tom Sullivan is, I’m not ashamed to say, delightful as a quirky scientist and Berryman plays a straightforward businessman (more or less) and not a demented freak, which should be awesome news to Berryman fans.

While the casual viewer might be quick to point out the hotel rooms serving as many of the sets, this is actually in service of the corporation ideal as well, the sterility of the compositions making perfect sense. It’s obvious that Desmond and company worked their collective asses off crafting this movie and avoiding the obvious “audience-pleasing” pitfalls of graphic gore and nudity. They were out to create something new, to please their own artistic sensibilities. Whether or not the end result is successful is, ultimately, up to the viewer and the opinions are likely to differ radically from one person to the other.

All that said, after three viewings, I’m still hard-pressed to say exactly what the hell it’s all about. Some of this confusion could be chalked up to the fact that I’ve seen multiple incarnations of the movie (Desmond re-edited the film at least three times that I’m aware of). It’s story can’t be summed up in a single sentence but it takes chances that Hollywood would never dream of (no clear heroes or villains, a Hitchcockian morass of a plot) and that might very well be the reason it took as long as it did to find a legitimate distributor, despite its who’s-who cast roster. It won’t be to every viewer’s taste. But if you’re looking to catch something thought-provoking—even head-scratching at times—that presents some interesting ideas then this movie is for you. And is, perhaps, in a league all its own.

Movie Outlaw: LOVERS, LIARS AND LUNATICS (2006)

[With Amber Benson's and Adam Busch's Drones (starring Angela Bettis) playing at Slamdance, I thought I'd haul out and touch up a review of one of her earlier movies. A version of this originally appeared at Film Threat.]

Two inept burglars invade the home of quite possibly the most dysfunctional family on the planet. Secrets abound: Patriarch Paddy is cheating on wife Elaine (the delightful Christine Estabrook), she’s planning on leaving him, one son is a horny loser, the other everyone suspects is gay. Louis the Burglar doesn’t care about any of this. He’s after the money that Paddy has stashed somewhere in the house. Unfortunately for Louis, his dim-bulb girlfriend, Justine, is the friendly type and starts to connect to the misfit nuclear family, particularly after they tie the group up and try to figure out what to do next. The inevitable hostage situation begins to mutate as power switches hands, negotiation turns into haggling, and it is no longer clear who is in charge.

The second film written and directed by Amber Benson (her “sophomore effort”, if you will, after Chance), Lovers, Liars and Lunatics is a speedy black comedy about a situation that continues to implode with every passing exchange. The tone of the piece is so easy-going and breezy that each dark turn comes as a surprise as the viewer is certain (conditioned by years of sitcom viewing) that the opposite and happier outcome is sure to arrive. It’s more Eating Raoul than What’s Up, Doc? (Although, I suppose, I just ruined that sense of the unknown for you. Sorry about that.)

Originally written as a stage play and adapted to the screen, a fact that will not be lost on viewers, the cast is primarily restricted to the single location, safe for asides set in the office. Unlike many one-location movies, (Barefoot in the Park, Two Girls and a Guy, The Ref—a movie Lovers, Liars invokes in many ways), the blocking doesn’t feel claustrophobic and the viewer is invited along with the hi-jinks. Benson keeps the story moving and the script is very funny.

Lovers, Liars and Lunatics is filled to the brim with a solid ensemble cast, though not surprisingly the film seems to lag slightly when Benson, playing supporting character Justine, is not on camera (something that will be evident to even non-Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans). Whether Benson gave herself the juiciest role or that’s what the daffy Justine became is debatable. Beautifully shot on 35mm by director of photography Jakobine Motz Lovers, Liarssuffers only from an uneven pace that will not bother folks schooled in indie filmmaking but the casual mainstream viewer may find off-putting. While it helps if you’re already pre-disposed to enjoying (and sympathetic towards) indie films, there is enough going on here to hold even the antsiest viewer’s attention.


Benson and her family not only funded this film on their own (her mom is one of the producers and sister Danielle is an associate prod. and created the artwork seen throughout the film), but are self-distributing it as well. Purchasing a copy through the film’s website is an official mark of support for independent filmmaking. So go here and buy a copy. Buy three, keep two and give one to a friend.

RAZORBACK (1984)

As we have all learned from watching The Crocodile Hunter, everything in Australia is big and sharp and wants to kill you. Reptiles, dust storms, Paul Hogan. Kangaroos will kick you to death for your lunch money and Koalas, the scourge of the Outback, want nothing more to suffocate you with their overpowering stench of shit and cough drops. In Razorback, Highlander’s Russell Mulcahy, adapts Petet Brennan’s novel which posits that, given the opportunity, even feral pigs will grow to the size of Volkswagons and go Animal Farm on your ass.

The titular be-tusked critter introduces itself before the opening credits have finished by running straight through Jake Cullen’s house, killing his toddler grandson. Unable to convince anyone that a giant boar wrecked his house and his life, Jake is accused of murder, even his own family turns their backs on him. Crafty pig, this razorback, able to feast on human flesh and frame people for the crime! Two years later, an American wildlife reporter, in Australia to do an expose on wild pigs and kangaroos used as food, is attacked by the same pair of grimy psycho Aussies found in most Ozsploitation pics and is left to die at the hoofs of the murderous, overcompensating Arnold. This just brings her intrepid husband to the land downunder to suss out the details of his wife’s death. During his search, he meets said psychos and the giant pig and much, much violence ensues.

For a variety of reasons, Razorback is one of those movies I’d more or less avoided for years, despite having ample opportunity to pop it in. Jaws being the obvious exception, I’ve just never been hip to the “man vs. ugly, angry nature” subgenre of survival horror. It wan’t until seeing clips of it on the gloriously-wonderful Ozsploitation documentary, Not Quite Hollywood, that I decided to seek it out. And, of course, as soon as I wanted to see it, copies vanished off the face of the Earth. Finally running down a PAL DVD, I found Razorback to be an unpretentious treat. Mulcahy overcomes his low budget with stylish camera work and an alternating pace of suspense and rapid-fire action.

The title character is mostly glimpsed speeding past the camera, with extreme close ups on eyes and bloody tusks, and that’s fine. Obviously a mechanical rodeo bull on a track, Mulcahy does his best to masquerade the puppet’s shortcomings and pulls off a nice homage to the aforementioned Jaws at the same time. As far as our hero goes, husband “Carl” is unfortunately played by Gregory Harrison. We of the ‘80s childhood remember him from Trapper John, M.D. and have fond memories of rooting for his death at the hands of anyone or anything, be them giant pigs or Pernell Roberts. There’s just something smarmy about him that removes all sympathy. His manner seems to say, “Hi, Gregory Harrison. I’m superior to you and my teeth are very white.” Seeing him eaten by an enormous mechanical pig wouldn’t be the worst thing I’d ever witness.

Personal bias aside, I suppose he’s as good as anyone else would be in the role. You’re not seeking out Razorback because it’s a Gregory Harrison movie anyway. You’re watching because you’re in the mood for a killer pig movie! In short, Razorback is stylish, violent and very satisfying. If the idea of “killer pig movie” turns you off, try to think of it as a western rife with nasty nature. 

While VHS copies used to blacken the sky once upon a time, they can be pretty pricey to obtain nowadays. The Warner Archive Collection finally released a movie-only DVD last summer, so it can be had. If I haven’t said it enough already, you could do far worse and have much less fun.

CHATTERBOX (1977)

Were it not for the Medved Brothers’ Golden Turkey Awards, a great many awful movies would have been conveniently forgotten. At least until Al Gore got around to inventing the internet. As detailed in the famed Golden Turkey book, Chatterbox stars sex comedy queen Candice Rialson (Hollywood Boulevard) as the charmingly naïve Penny Pittman, a young hairdresser who discovers, to her consternation, that she is the proud possessor of a talking, singing vagina. And her downstairs neighbor is quite a potty mouth, getting her in all sorts of trouble—now that she talks, she never shuts up! Complaining to her psychiatrist about her genatalia’s loose lips, Dr. Pearl (Larry Gelman) becomes her agent, names her nethers “Virginia”, and the duo embarks on a world stage tour. Virginia records a hit record called “Wang Dang Doodle” that leads to fame and fortune. But Penny’s life is still so empty. There’s a hollow she just can’t fill.

And if you think my double-entendres are awful, sit down and watch the movie!

Chatterbox is an eager-to-please little movie that does its damnedest to entertain. Rialson, Gelman and cameo-players Rip Taylor and Professor Irwin Corey are all having a great time. Silly situations are pushed to the brink of insanity and there’s no lack of energy in the film. The script and direction both fall a flat, unfortunately, but the outrageous story and the 110% from the cast keep things moving. And let’s pause for a second to acknowledge that not only does it feature a score by Neil Sedaka (albeit an underwhelming score) but photography by award-winning cinematographer Tak Fujimoto (John Adams)!

And for a sex comedy, Chatterbox is pretty tame, even by ‘70s standards. There’s an ample helping of nudity, but if made today, we’d get crotch shots animated Clutch Cargo style and music video smuttiness rather than the incongruously near-wholesome direction we get here, which just accentuates the insanity of it all. Often referred to as an inverted Deep Throat, Chatterbox is more silly than dirty. You’ll hate yourself for laughing before you hate yourself for “watching porn”.

While grey market copies of the Vestron VHS abound, when I first wrote this review, I said "don’t expect to see an official DVD release any time soon", but apparently I was mistaken. Don't know much about it, but here's a link. But in keeping with the motto here at Movie Outlaw: “You’ve already seen worse.”