Rating: D+
Dir: Brad Twigg
Star: Rosaria Eraso, Chris O’Brocki, Gary Lee Vincent, Jessa Flux
If I was Bloody Disgusting, I’d be embarrassed to have my name on this dreck. There’s perhaps ten minutes of amusement to be found here – almost entirely the raccoon attack sequences – and in an eighty-minute movie, it falls far short of enough. That we’re approaching the half-way point before there’s any significant amount of raccoon content is just one of the many problems here. Things only start to get going after two gay drug dealers, fleeing the cops, toss their stash of a crack derivative called Acid Mind Drainage, out their car window. It’s found and ingested by a member of the local wildlife population, who then goes on a bloody rampage through anybody in the area.
That’s basically it. One of the dealers, Denny (O’Brocki) ends up teaming with local cop Jonathan (Vincent) and visiting spring breaker Finn (Eraso) to battle the raccoon. This occupies perhaps five minutes at the end of the film, so there is no particular sense of escalating mayhem. The second half is a steady procession of attack, filler, attack, filler. And by, “filler”, it’s scenes which are almost entirely terrible. The humour isn’t the slightest bit funny, often straying into badly written homosexual stereotypes: I’m considerably more offended by the “badly written” part. Nor is the nudity appealing, with the honourable exception of the gratuitous shower scene by Flux, as Jonathan’s slutty wife, Charlotte. The characters are as much fun as having your head eaten by a pharmaceutical crazed trash panda.
The sole significant redeeming feature are the attacks, which are terrible, in a self-aware and amusing way. It’s clear that it’s a plush puppet, which gets thrown at the victims. They then thrash around like me in a toy store, pressing it to the affected body part, while the camera shakes aggressively, and arterial spray drenches anyone or anything nearby. Intestines get pulled out. Faces get gnawed off. But the best thing about these sequences is, we do not have to endure any of the shitty acting or fucktard dialogue while the film is in Crackcoon Mode. “Who wrote this script?”, mused Chris at one point. Probably 12-year-olds. The more important question is, “Why?” Because fading to a black screen between attacks would be a clear improvement.
To be fair, in the sub-sub-sub-genre of microbudget, druggie animal attack filns, this is arguably better than Cocaine Roach, though any edge is strictly at the marginal level. It took until the end credits for the scale to tip in favour of Crackcoon, due to The Transylvania Hellhounds rendition of their song, Crackcoon Kills. If only the rest of the film had the same level of energy. However, I do now possess a better appreciation for the qualities of Cocaine Werewolf, since it possessed a consistency of tone, and general coherence, to which this can only aspire. The makers of this are now working on Crackodile and Cracksquatch. The news feels more of a threat than a promise.