The Bad Movie Police understand how destructive and demented such ghastly goofs can be. And they are here to keep the viewing public safe from such video violations. The brainchild of Tempe Entertainment, famous for its own catalog of crapola, this fresh coat of cynical paint poured over a tainted title from their motion picture cesspool is meant to prepare the viewer for some of the worst exercises in excrement ever placed on tape. And with an offering like Humanoids from Atlantis, these monitors of the dreadful and the dumb really have their work cut out for them.

The DVD:
Featuring a movie within a convention, Tempe Entertainment's Bad Movie Police series is meant to function as both an avenue for revisiting as well as a buffer between several video vomitoriums the company created in the early 90s. It wants to preach to and protect a brand new DVD fanbase who may not be capable of taking on these infected films sans setup. So we are introduced to the BMP and their squad of schlock cinema peace officers. This unusual unit is headed up by a pair of gratuitously Gothic fuzz femmes - the wicked Sgt. Elke Mantooth (the wonderfully acerbic Ariauna Albright) and the nasty, if nonchalant Lt. Drucilla Dread (an equally emblematic Lilith Stabs). Together with their crack team of investigators and the resources of the appalling picture patrol at their disposal, our law enforcing ladies are ready to take a bite out of B-movie misdemeanors and fiasco-like filmic felonies. Tempe has released a total of three episodes under the Bad Movie Police moniker, all revolving around Mantooth and Dread's attempts at cracking down on crimes against celluloid, and those with the camcorder to commit them. Past case files have included looks at Galaxy of the Dinosaurs (amateurish) and ChickBoxer (mind-blowingly bad). While it may be saying something severe, this latest installment of the MST3K style deadpan dissection of autistic auteurism could be the worst ever. And oddly enough, that's a good thing.

Humanoids from Atlantis tells a simple story – which is not unusual, since the film has only about 32 minutes of plot (13 minutes of the 45 minute run time is taken up with an insane Star Wars-esque crawl at the beginning, and an endless list of imaginary entities filling out the end credits). In this stupefyingly stunted sci-fi snot rocket, young documentarian (Tempe perennial James L. Edwards) Ken Adams has just found out that the city of Tempe wants him to make a film about their famous lake. With irritating girlfriend Julie along for the ride, Ken prepares to tell the story of this small Ohio town's resident body of water. Little does he know (frankly, there is NO SHOCK in how miniscule of a clue this guys actually has) that Dr. Fredericka O. Ray has captured a humanoid from Atlantis and is keeping him for scientific study in her basemen...I mean, top secret lab. When the man-like monster escapes, he makes a beeline...sorry, make that amphibian amble, to the nearest pool of liquid – which just so happens to be where Ken and his babbling ball and chain are shooting some footage. Capturing the creature on tape, the kids try to convince the sheriff that he has an invasion on his hands. But he can't view the unexciting evidence, as he only has VHS, and their tape is Beta (the BASTARDS!). It is up to Ken and his future alimony payment to try and stop the onslaught of fiend as it basically stumbles around a lot. Oh yeah, and there's a twist ending. Oh double yeah, and there's a shocker of a twist of a double finale. Oh triple yeah, it may all have been a dream, too.

The best way to describe Humanoids from Atlantis is to call it a bottom-shelfer. Anyone with a memory of the earliest Mom and Pop video stores (or better yet, the single row of rentals positioned right near the Slim Jims at your local 7-11) will recall the flummoxed feeling one used to get when looking along the lowest rung of the VHS inventory, seeing labels that both mesmerized and misinformed. Many a Friday or Saturday was ruined/saved as one of these bogus bait and switch hits - that promised something special but usually delivered a Deliverance kid - spewed their magnetic tape miscreance all over the unsuspecting audience. You know the kind of films being discussed – off-brand bumbutt with such strange labels as Speech Competition Massacre, Satan's Stevedores, Quorum Call of the Living Dead or Don't Respond to the Chain Letter. It seemed like every week, the local merchant was larding the racks with more and more mystery movies, films long forgotten, and recently resurrected to tap into the 'anything will do' attitude of the new technology owner, or something made specifically for the emerging format itself. Sure, there were gems to be mined from the endless entropy packaged and presented by anyone with a desire to tap into the home video market, but the vast majority of bottom-shelfers had a horrible placement in the aesthetic kiosk, and with good reason. They usually sucked squirrel saliva.

As a solo slice of stool, Humanoids from Atlantis is a stark raving ultra insane hoot. It contains acting so laughable that even less than believable turns by professional athletes in so-called outrageous bad taste comedies look like paragons of Shakespearean supremacy. The creature feature makeup effects are dime store head mask mediocre, with the title throng of aqua-beasts turning out to be one ugly nerd in a fish suit. With a script that was ditched halfway through – we learn that there were too many financial and environmental issues (read: snow in March) to take on several of the scenes – and a plot that gives illogic an even more irrational name, this quagmire of filmmaking quackery is like catching a whiff from an elephant's butt. The aroma is repugnant and the concept nauseating, but if you settle in for the big sniff, you may actually learn to like it. Indeed, Humanoids from Atlantis is one of the funniest, most laugh out loud lunatic fringes you'll ever have the misfortune to fumble through. While it may seem like an oxymoron (which, oddly enough, would be the appropriate term for the type of talent involved here – sans the 'oxy', of course) this is a great terrible movie, a blithering idiot of an entertainment that keeps you chuckling with its "couldn't give a crap" attitude. This is a film that shoots day for night, and then doesn't bother to remove the telltale reflection of the sun from the car windows. It presents an invasion in the guise of a single sea being. The hero is a halibut and his gal pal is the kind of lady that Prodigy said should be smacked up. Frame after fetid frame, there is no better grade-Z groove than this boiled baloney ballyhoo.

There are so many amazing moments of mirth here that to focus on them all would ruin the movie's otherwise inconsequential mooring. We are introduced to a couple of stoners who smoke the world's largest joint, Cheech and Chong style, doing one of the best sense memory jobs of being confused, roach clip retards the small screen has ever seen (no wonder the "Sr. Mary Elephant" inventors broke up). James L. "Lonnie" Edwards is a scenery chewing high school drama club Prima Donna who has never been taught the concept of restrained gesturing. He flails like Jerry Lewis in a hyperactive hurricane. Sandra Wurzer, proving that English in all its facets – pronunciation, noun verb agreement, definitional use – is unquestionably her second language, lights up the screen with her patented brand of thespian thrombosis. But perhaps the best example of hampered pretending comes at the hands of the dogged dramatic pauses of Christine Morrison. In her homage role of Dr. Fredericka O. Ray (Fred O Ray? We get it) this languid line reading reject sounds like she's having a series of mini-strokes every time she opens her pie hole to opine. Almost always finding a way to take the Lord's name, or at least his Omnipresent Daddy's Christian calling card, in vain, this so called scientist is so obsessed with winning the Nobel Peace Prize (for science fiction??? HUH???) that she breaks out into manic mood swings halfway through the narrative. At first, she wants to stop the creature. Then she wants it to kill people. Then there is another hopeless hokey turn of events and she's battling the beast. Morrison makes Humanoids from Atlantis, turning what could be torture into something sublimely stupid.

Indeed, it is the level of lunacy inherent in this goal line fumble of a fiasco that will keep you in Schadenfreude stitches throughout most of this movie. It is always better to laugh at than with someone when it comes to bad movies, and Humanoids from Atlantis provides more than enough rib tickling to pleasure your guilt. Granted, the final result was never meant to be taken too seriously. Produced for about $2000 and coming at the end of an unrealistic production schedule for filmmaker/producer J. R. Bookwalter (under the pseudonym "Lance Randas") it's hard to imagine how the film could have worked. Made for a low rent distributor who demanded 2 films a month for $2500 a pair, Humanoids has no production value to speak of, very little action and a minimum of locations. There's a car interior, a basement lab, a snow-covered lakeshore and an incredibly barren forest and that's about it. Dialogue is mostly improvised, and you have to admit, it is better than most of the written malarkey stuttered through by the cast. Bookwalter's basic cinematic abilities keep the movie moving, and it is never scattershot or dull. But man what a weird, wounded trip it is. Humanoids from Atlantis circumvents both aspects of the title (we never see the fabled lost city and the Creature from the Hack Lagoon that shows up is human in actor costuming only) while trying for some semblance of salience. The fact that it fails so absolutely and completely is good news for us lovers of lame cinema. Had it been partially passable, Humanoids from Atlantis would have provided stink without silliness. But thanks to the ineptitude abounding, this mangled monster mold is a joyful toe-jam of a time.

As for the Bad Movie Police portions themselves, they really add a great deal to the dimension of this DVD (aside from padding out the running time to a nicely rounded off hour). Albright and Stabs are sensational, bringing enough gravity to their girl cop rock to get us plugged into the premise, but with enough of a self-deprecating design to remind us this is all a ruse. And the set-up has such a cool, old-fashioned Shock Theater/ersatz Elvira feel that one could easily see this becoming a monthly series on some pay cable channel. The notion of resurrecting atrocious films with a kind of crackpot vision of their viability is nothing new (after all, the GREATEST TELEVISION SHOW IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD, MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATER 3000 made its legend on the back of such boundaries) and the fact that most people feel horrible horror films are the ultimate expression of motion picture pus makes them perfect for a cops and robbers justice-based reality. Frankly, more should be done with the new footage filmed. There should be follow-ups – Dragnet style - to the BMP saga that was started. And why not have the officers themselves offer up some mid-point commentary or inserted pathetic pun fun ala the Mistress of the Dark? So much more could be done with the Bad Movie Police idea that this third episode leaves us wanting more, which is a symbolic dose of the old good news/bad news routine. Good in the sense that this is a wonderful series smartly done. Bad in that it will require another flick as fudged up as Humanoids from Atlantis to found its fun.

The Video:
There are two separate presentations here, so it's best to deal with each one individually. The Bad Movie Police sequences are stellar: colorful, crisp and filled with detail-discovering contrasts. The 1.33:1 full screen image perfectly mimics the police dramas of years gone by while keeping with the low-budget digital-to-film fashion of the feature. From the bright and vibrant opening credits to the delightful daylight material (minus any video problems) this is a great transfer...up to a point. The minute Humanoids from Atlantis shows up, all motion picture passability is pissed away. G-D does this movie look crappy. We are informed at the end of the film that the original masters for the movie were lost (actually taped over), and that the print we are viewing comes from a Super-VHS edit copy. What they don't tell you is that said magnetic tape tantrum looks like a monkey swallowed it and passed it through its alimentary canal a couple of dozen times before flinging its feces on it in pre-masturbation triumph. Sharing only the same aspect ratio with the BMP material, Humanoids is hopeless. This dark, grainy, foggy and muddled mess is almost unwatchable. Thankfully, most of the outdoor material is eyesight salvageable. Otherwise, we'd be starring at a compressed disaster of a DVD.

The Audio:
Everything said before about the video applies to the audio. Just substitute the appropriate sonic words ('aural', 'audio', 'sound', 'decibel', etc) and you have some idea of the dichotomy involved with this disc. But just in case that is too complicated for you, maybe this simple statement will help. The Bad Movie Police material has a very professional Dolby Digital Stereo presentation. Humanoids from Atlantis is like the auditory equivalent of watching your obese Uncle put on his elaborate series of trusses.

The Extras:
Tempe is a titan when it comes to giving their DVDs the added content care we wish most major studios would embrace. And Bad Movie Police #3 is no different. For a start, there are two separate commentaries combined into one that play out over both the BMP production and the horror that is Humanoids. Bookwalter is along for both, and he is joined by Sgt. Mantooth herself, Ariauna Albright for the first, police-oriented portion of the discussion. Bookwalter is a wealth of information, talking about the intimate details of the production as well as the creative end of the concept. Albright is like a combination cheerleader and cutup, making jokes at the expense of J.R. and some of his more serious statements. Part two focuses on the sea monster swill, and galling girlfriend Julie, Sandra Wurzer (now Sandra Lange) and husband/ Bookwalter friend David Lange are along for the riotous ride. This is a very funny alternative narrative, with everyone taking potshots at the movie, the actors and the piss poor production values. No-show James L. Edwards is the focus of most of the jests and Wurzer complains that Bookwalter promised he would NEVER show the movie ever again after its brief video store shelf life. Still, the overall atmosphere is irreverent (Lange keeps dropping porn references) and informative (J.R. just can't resist filling us in on almost all the intricate details of this failed fart of a film) and makes for a wonderful supplement to the movie.

There is also a Behind the Scenes featurette (clocking in at around 11 minutes) called Hemorrhoids from Uranus, which offers up a fictional fact fest about the making of the movie. Several actors from Humanoids are interviewed, as are a few of the crew. No one really outwardly apologizes for the terrible title being discussed, but most recognize that it was a less than successful production. More fascinating is some publicity material shot for the film's release that offers PRISTINE clips of the movie. Anyone wanting to see what a remastered version of Humanoids would have looked like will get a kick out of this documentary. Along with a still gallery, a set of trailers and a short film Bookwalter made in the early 90s (a serial killer/premonition experiment called The Accident that can be viewed with or without director's commentary) this is a exceptional example of extra feature excellence.

Final Thoughts:
It's a shame that the Bad Movie Police doesn't exist in real life. The crimes against humanity and home theater viewing are so numerous that these law enforcement ladies would have a neverending field day. There's Dale Resteghini and his oeuvre to offal, Colorz of Rage, Da Hip Hop Witch and Urban Massacre. Fred Olen Ray has been known to filth up the place with such retro-regressive dreck as Billy Frankenstein, Invisible Mom II and Dinosaur Island. And let's not forget those founding fathers of failure, men with names as resonant as Wood, Lewis and Mahon. Indeed, if there was such a digital domain DEA, one fears these fighters for truth, justice and the amenable film would be overloaded with lamentable labors. Handling Tempe's backlog alone would be monumental enough (Bloodletting, anyone?). If you crave a sense of revenge for every rotten flick you had to pay late fees on. If you have your heart set on seeking payback for every wasted night you spent shaking your head at the VCR in unbridled disbelief. If you long for the days when bad movies got the comical spanking they so richly deserve, than call up Sgt. Mantooth and Lt. Dread. They'll put a stiletto-healed ass kicking on the pathetic moving picture perps hanging around your home theater. Here's to the Bad Movie Police. Long may their badges blaze!

Want more Gibron Goodness? Come to Bill's TINSEL TORN REBORN Blog (Updated Frequently) and Enjoy! Click Here