BAD TASTE (Jackson, 1987)

Peter Jackson is the king of splatterhouse horror comedies. Not Sam Raimi, not RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD, not Stuart Gordon, not even Tobe Hooper. Jackson is responsible for three of the most hysterical, horrifying freakouts ever committed to film, in BAD TASTE, MEET THE FEEBLES, and, of course, DEAD ALIVE, the last of which may just be the greatest horror film of the 80s.

BAD TASTE is pretty damn great in its own right, too, though. It's a masterpiece of shlock cinema, the type of thing that Joe Bob Briggs would show if MONSTERVISION was still on the air. (Although Rob Zombie's TCM thing sounds like fun.) Like DEAD ALIVE, there are parts that make me physically ill to view, and there are parts where I laugh so hard that my eyes burn and I can't speak. Jackson is a master at balancing the laughs with some flat out disgusting imagery, which, of course, also draw laughs.

The story is, simply put, ridiculous. A team of government officials stumble across an alien plot to wipe out the human race and use the flesh and blood for their intergalactic fast food chain. The joke, of course, is that humans are the outer space version of McDonald's, an inexpensive, half-cooked substitute for something fulfilling and traditional.

But the commentary never gets any deeper than that. No, if you want social relevance, rent DAY OF THE DEAD. If you want gruesome, chainsaw-wielding, bowel-clenching, acid-soaked fun, then BAD TASTE is where you want to be.