It's a shame movies like this have to be made when there's such a demand for guitar picks in the world.
In "parts: the clonus horror" (title by e.e. cummings), people live in this spa-like environment where they have bike rides, races, wrestle with each other and wear feathered hair like there's no tomorrow. The guards watching over them wear really intimidating Adidas jogging suits and muffin hats until the people are deemed "ready" and are drugged, quick-frozen and prepared for their real duties: spare body parts for their original rich white guy blood donors.
They're clones, you see. Clones, "clonus" - get it?
Anyway, one clone (Donnelly) who has the IQ of pimento loaf, finds the truth and escapes his captors by running through a laboratory hallway, riding on top of an elevator, shimmying through a septic system, running through an open field and climbing up a big rock to find America - or a small representation of it.
Of course by doing this, he runs afoul of such obtuse white guys as Peter Graves (who should do a "Biography" on Pauly Shore after this fiasco) and Dick Sargent (Darren #2 on "Bewitched"). He befriends Keenan Wynn, though, and tries to get word of "clonus" to the outside world. Man, is it me or was Keenan Wynn featured in every other bad sci-fi/horror movie of the '70s? Halfway expected to see Roddy McDowell pop up any second.
In the end, it's all wrapped up in typical '70s anti-climactic fashion with downbeat nihilism and bad feelings all around. What a bummer. In retrospect, a lobotomy would make you the perfect candidate to watch this movie, let alone participate in it.
Mike and the robots make appropriate pot-shots at the '70s and every "profound" moment in this cinematic sack of peat moss. Nice job, guys.
One star only for "parts: the clonus horror"; eight for the MST3K version.
TIDBIT - beer cans are indigenous to river bed life.
In "parts: the clonus horror" (title by e.e. cummings), people live in this spa-like environment where they have bike rides, races, wrestle with each other and wear feathered hair like there's no tomorrow. The guards watching over them wear really intimidating Adidas jogging suits and muffin hats until the people are deemed "ready" and are drugged, quick-frozen and prepared for their real duties: spare body parts for their original rich white guy blood donors.
They're clones, you see. Clones, "clonus" - get it?
Anyway, one clone (Donnelly) who has the IQ of pimento loaf, finds the truth and escapes his captors by running through a laboratory hallway, riding on top of an elevator, shimmying through a septic system, running through an open field and climbing up a big rock to find America - or a small representation of it.
Of course by doing this, he runs afoul of such obtuse white guys as Peter Graves (who should do a "Biography" on Pauly Shore after this fiasco) and Dick Sargent (Darren #2 on "Bewitched"). He befriends Keenan Wynn, though, and tries to get word of "clonus" to the outside world. Man, is it me or was Keenan Wynn featured in every other bad sci-fi/horror movie of the '70s? Halfway expected to see Roddy McDowell pop up any second.
In the end, it's all wrapped up in typical '70s anti-climactic fashion with downbeat nihilism and bad feelings all around. What a bummer. In retrospect, a lobotomy would make you the perfect candidate to watch this movie, let alone participate in it.
Mike and the robots make appropriate pot-shots at the '70s and every "profound" moment in this cinematic sack of peat moss. Nice job, guys.
One star only for "parts: the clonus horror"; eight for the MST3K version.
TIDBIT - beer cans are indigenous to river bed life.