Blood Diner Review
Blood Diner (1987) is another movie saved from a 2-star review because it fully embraces its own camp. This intentionally terrible gore flick is made all the more ridiculous by the mall bangs, hot pink spandex, cheap shoulder-padded suits and geometrically patterned shirts that haunt your yearbooks.
Two greasy short-order cooks dig up their dead Uncle Anwar, whose pickled brain directs them to butcher and eat their LA neighbors as part of a ritual to resurrect a Sumerian goddess. Uncle Anwar, now a talking jar of brain and eyeballs, spends as much time talking about his long-ago severed schlong as he does presiding over the ritualistic murders of the “blood boo-fay”.
Meanwhile, a generically foreign police chief, a hairy-chested disco-king detective with a lisp, and a Janet Jackson lookalike fumble to put the pieces together and catch the killers.
The fantastically laughable dialogue and acting match the writing: cheerleaders doing topless aerobics (really not as good as it sounds, I promise) get dismembered and sewn into a Frankenstein goddess, the cooks hit up a club in ill-fitting Saturday Night Fever costumes to pick up more trashy sacrificial fodder, a random puppet plays the part of a diner customer for no discernible reason, there’s an inexplicable wrestling match between one cook and a mustachioed beefcake named Jimmy Hitler, and the movie climaxes with a drug-fuelled orgy of sex, stew, and gold lamé. (By the way, why do bad 80s horror movies have such a fascination with Nazis? The band supplying the soundtrack to said orgy put its saxophone players in SS uniforms.)
The special effects include gallons of pea-soup vomit, a taxman’s fingers served up as fishsticks, brain swapping, various acts of cannibalism, exploding ears, and a reanimated corpse with a latex mouth for a belly. Great way to pass an otherwise boring Saturday afternoon.
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